


Art pour un connard.

by chiyokintou



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, At least marco's an artist, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Yaoi, jeanmarco, marcojean - Freeform, slow built, snk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 64,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2409185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiyokintou/pseuds/chiyokintou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco tries to pull himself away from his shitty boyfriend which leads an everlasting friendship and love with a certain asshole.</p><p>Art pour un connard:  art for an asshole</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Marco’s memory was never the best one. He wasn’t the type to remember funny things he had said when younger or dreams he had had when he first started to dream. Everything he had done and felt as a little kid were now vague or gone. This didn’t really bother him at all.  But what did bother him was that the only thing he could remember was the scene he hated most. . It was glued onto his memory and he couldn’t get rid of it even if he wanted to. He didn’t know why this memory was so important. Maybe it was because shame and guilt were more impressing in a kids world of everlasting happiness.

The story starts with a skirt. Yes indeed a skirt. He had wanted that skirt as if his life depended on it. he had wanted it for quite a while and finally his mum was willing to buy it for him. At the moment it had seemed like the happiest moment of his life.

However, the next day when he was proudly wearing his new piece of clothing  a women spoke to his mum in a way he could remember too clearly for his liking. She said;  “How dare you make your son wear that? I bet you just wanted a girl, you’re a disgrace of a mother.”    
Her son, with who she was holding hands indeed had a jeans and a shirt on. Blue and green. No pink to be seen. No skirt to be seen. 

Marco hadn’t known skirts were for girls only. Sure they were a little girly, like pink and such but they were alright for boys too right?  He had thought this was normal. Apparently it was not and he felt so bad for his mum. He was to blame. He had done something weird without realizing it. His mum didn’t mind. She loved him anyway. She brushed it off and gave him a fanny look.  
Yet that was the last time he had worn the thing he had loved so much a day before.

 

Right now marco was in a comparable situation.  Only this time he didn’t really want a skirt (whatever people might say about him, he really didn’t). People still despised him. He failed to hate himself for it; it wasn’t ignorance this time.  
He just didn’t want to bring other down with him this time. He wanted no foul words spoken about his loved ones. He didn’t just mean his mother now, he meant Noah too. If Noah could keep his head up high.. how bad could bowing down a little be?  How bad could the beatings get if the important people didn’t leave him?

 

Marco sat in the second row, no one next to him, no one in the table in front of him. There were 25 student in his class, and because of that they were the smallest mentor class around. Sticking together in most classes. Marco didn’t really know if he liked the fact or not. He had heard others whine about how annoying and busy their classes were, then again his chances at making friends became less as the people did.

Suddenly - when marco was of course watching the teacher like the model student he was- the door flew open and a guy, looking like he either desperately needed coffee or just really wanted to punch some puppies,  walked in.  All together; the not knocking, the glare, he seemed like quite the asshole. No judgement. It was still morning and.. well that was all actually.  Not judging was just something marco told himself to do.  Apart from that, the guy was pretty good looking, even with the glare.

“I was put in the wrong class” the guy almost grunted (like an asshole).

“then you are.. Jean kirstein?” ah, jean.. shjaon?.. french?

“Yeah”  

“sit down”  Marco’s heart sped up as he glanced at the seat beside him. He had though he would have a hard time making friends but maybe if he was forsed together with this moody yet good looking guy? This spoiled guy? Maybe that was his chance.. The guy seemed moody but not mean. Maybe-

Jean sat down at the table in front of marco and immediately let his head fall on it with a big thumb and grunt.

Marco wanted to do the same for actually believing the guy would sit down next to him. Of course he sat down alone. DId the guy really look like someone who’d sit next to someone else? Anyway if he did it would be kind of weird. Marco just hadn’t thought about it.  

 “Okay class!”the teacher clapped in his hands  “my name is-”

 

Marco had applied for a dorm room and was already starting to regret it when he walked in again. His mother was like his best friend, what the fudge had he been thinking?  Of course he used to have friends in his old school but apparently they were all..  no friends at all.  
He didn’t know if Noah could even come over. He had a dorm mate. Not that he had actually met him. He had seen his stuff, true indeed, his roommates stuff was neatly placed on his side of the room.    
Maybe Marco was unconsiously waiting for his roommate to come back. Not knowing who he was and sitting in a room with all his stuff just felt a little bit off.

Soon enough though, the door opened. An extremely tall guy awkwardly walked in. Marco remembered him as a guy called bert. A built blond guy had called him that in the one class they had together a few times.

“oh, Hey” marco mumbled awkwardly with a smile on his face.

¨hey, uh.. Im sorry if my stuff got in the way”

Marco told him it didn’t, that he was actually positively surprised. A book was neatly places on his lap. Seemed as if their room would never become a mess. That they would never fight.

“You probably won’t see me a lot, I’m at a friends place a lot”

“ah alright, I won’t mind him coming here as well”

“Well about that.. The guy is my boyfriend so I doubt you’ll want th-”

“That’s fine! I- I don’t mind”   Marco was amazed. How could a guy say something like that as if it was nothing? It was crazy. Was he one of these ‘Love me or leave me’ guys? Questions rushing through marco’s mind.

“I’m sorry if that makes you uneasy”  

Marco shook his head “not at all”

“A- Anyway”  Bert stook out his hand  “I’m berthold”

Ah.. so it wasn’t bert? It was Berthold. That did sound better.  He was probably just closer to the blond and built guy.

“Marco, Nice to meet you”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you want?”  

“Oh dear what a way to pick up your phone”  Jean had a lot of things he didn't want to hear after a long day of school - not ever actually- but his mum still managed to get on top of the everlasting list.

“Why are you calling?”

“how is school” Now this made him want to puke. Her pretending to actually give two shits.  

“fine?”

“Good, now listen jean.. I heard you made some new friends that are.. well you know..”

“I dont, that wasn’t exactly a good explanation.”   He wasn’t being rude. He was holding back all of it. He wanted to throw his phone of the floor and shoot it up.  No. His day hadn’t been great and he couldn’t have this too.

“Yes you do jean. Gay, I mean that they’re gay”

Jean roled his eyes “They were my friends ever since I came to this school”

“This is not the crowd you should hang around”

“Oh please, they screw the same sex, not kill people”

“Jean! Think about your father’s company”

“Every second of my life mum, dad’s company is my life”  Jean mumbled sarcastic.

“People are tal-”  

He hung up.  Threw the phone on his bed.   
His mum had no idea what was even going on in his life. Did she think they were still living in a world where a not all to ugly rich person could get friends without even trying? Real friends?  Because it wasn’t the case at all. No one actually gave two fucks about his brands and money. Yet he needed friends. He got friends. Even with his shitty personality he got friends.

Yeah he could admit he was a pretty shitty person. He always wanted to be right, he was always moody, he wanted to be the best, picking fights with everyone, not even human before his first coffee; he was an asshole alright.

Did he care? Not all too much.

He had friends. Yes, some of them were gay. Others looked fucking gay.  He was raised with the ideals of an homophobe but that only meant he had more reasons to not dumb his friends; he was an incredible to his parents too. That was all he was, all he did.

Besides, he never minded gays as long as they weren’t up his dick. Okay he might be a little weirded out if he would be sharing a room with a single gay boy but Reiner was taken. And how! Reiner and berthold had been together for like.. forever. They sticked together like glue. ‘Reiner’ in a sentence without ‘Berthold’  in it was just weird. It made people awkward.  Seeing them apart always raised questions.

“what up, I’m back horseface”

“Go fuck yourself faggot”

“got berthold for that”

Jean rolled his eyes and smiled “Rub my singleness in, go ahaid”  If sarcastic was a person it would be jean.

“I’ve got some nice boys for you”

Jean almost chocked on his own savilia.  Leaving Reiner laughing his ass off. Okay maybe having a gay room mate was sort of awkward from time to time.  He thought in pictures okay?

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noah.

_Marco had failed to notice before because of other ‘things’  on his mind but now he realized everyone was looking at him from a distance. Of course it was weird; no one had even come to say hi. People always smiled at him, yet now the people he considered friends had awkwardly kept their distance and brushed him away.  
_ _The fact that marco was just a very approachable person couldn’t have changed in a day. It had him thinking. Or maybe he was just overthinking. All of it could be coincidence and looking weird all together. People laughed, sometimes people were busy; things like that happen.  Maybe he wasn’t thinking clear, his mind was filled with Noah._

_“hey, Marco right?”  Finally someone who spoke to him! Was about time, end of the day, it didn’t matter._

_“Yeah, what’s up?”  He had one class with the guy. History, if he wasn’t mistaking. Together with that he was friends with noah. Not that he knew marco knew Noah._

_“I was wondering if you could help me with my history?  I don’t get it.. like at all”  he awkwardly laughed._

_“Sure, I can help”_

_“ah great, I have my stuff still in the football dressing room, do you mind coming with me to get it?”_

_He didn’t, marco said. He should have, but he didn’t. It was his trust, his good soul speaking for him._

_When they walked in it seemed as if the had just finished. Almost the everyone was still there. The guy must have hurried to meet up with him._   
_Marco felt extremely out of place in the dressing room with all the built man. He wasn’t like them. Yet his eyes met Noah’s and he felt a wave going through him. Maybe they weren’t all they seemed; like noah._

_“No way,  he actually came!”   marco’s eyes were ripped away from Noah’s to look at a guy walking his way, a cocky smirk on his face._

_“W-what?”  Great going on sounding tough marco._

_The boy who brought him here spoke up  “I told you, he’s soft hearted”_

_“ Like a girl”  the other mumbled, then walked up to him, marco against the wall, intimidated without them even touching him  “Being in this room with all of us.. this must be your wet dream”  From all the sides there were ‘iew’ and ‘disgusting man,  Jayce’ ‘s._

_Marco’s heart skippecd a beat. All he could think was ‘they know, they know’.  His eyes shot to Noah, his heart breaking until he saw that noah looked as surprised as he did. As pained._

_“W-what?”_

_“You’re gay, right” marco swallowed and closed his eyes “do you know what the bible says about fags?”_

_“ye-”_

_“Do you know what you’re supposed to do with these disgusting fucking things?”_

_“I-”   He was hit in his face once. Out of the blue. The room silent._

_“That was for imagining us naked”_

_“I didn’t!” He got hit again. Everything hurt already. Marco couldn’t handle a lot. Even if he was well build. Even if he was as tall. He never had to handle pain. He never even thought about fighting._

_What was worst, the words he had thought he accepted hurt so much more out of their mouths. The hits hurt, but the words cut deeper._

_“You mastrubate to pictures of boys don’t you? How am I not supposed to be mad when you could be doing it to mine? I’m fucking disgusted”_

_Marco was sure he was bleeding by now. He didn’t know why he had deserved a fist in his face but they seemed to know very well._

_He looked at noah, who seemed frozen. Looking away. Marco could have thought of so many insult at the moment, but he wasn’t mad. Disappointed a little, maybe. But not mad.  Noah was more important. Marco was already down, no need to take Noah with him._

_“Guys, enough” marco bit his lip “It’s like you’re hitting a girl, it’s weird”  Marco knew it was necessary but still.._

_“ C’mon, he’s no girl, he’s a fag. Tall but still a pussy”_

_“Than we could also go beat up tall girls.  It was funny for a while but let’s get out of here, I don’t want to spend my entire day on a fag”  wow thank you Noah. Very complimenting._

_“Such a gentleman you are noah”_

_“why do you think I have all the girls?”  And so, happily talking they walked out. They rest following behind him. As if nothing had happened. As if they didn’t just mess with someone’s life. They joked about girls.. noah did.  
_ _It was necessairy. It was necessary.  Marco kept telling himself.  His heart hurted. He touched his eyesbrow and looked at the blood at his hand. It was necessary for noah to wait. He had no choice._

_  
_ _For what seemed like hours marco sat against the wall and cried. Unconsciously he waited for noah to come back, knowing he wouldn’t. It was just another one of these foolish hopes he dared to have._

_Eventually the janitor found him and called his mother.  His mother didn’t need to be told what had happened. She knew. She felt it, she was a mother. No one knew her son like she did. She knew why he was beat up. He knew what kind of words were thrown at him and she regretted putting him on a christian school. She had always known and marco knew she did. Never had he told her. He never had to. He didn’t want to say the words out loud. Not to her.  
_ _Not a word was said between them about the matter. Marco just felt said ‘I’m alright’ more and more, while his mother mention her love for marco every time she got the chance._

“Jean my man!”  Jean- the guy marco had unconsciously been watching more than he’d like to admit- looked up and gave reiner one of his rare friendly looks. His smile was not often seen. It was as if he was always waking up and annoyed. It wasn’t that he was tired on the first day.  A cocky smirk did appear on his face. Marco liked those smirks actually, confident people were something marco looked up to these days.

“What up swagfag?”

“Go to hell, horseface” Marco wondered how insults like those could sound like compliments. Usually homophobic comments made marco want to hide in the middle of the earth and never come back. Now he felt accepted because someone was insulting what he was.  Well, without the swag part. But sort of.

Berthold send a quick smile marco’s way before letting his boyfriend take his hand and sitting down next to him. Their hands locked under the table.  Berthold looking nervous and warm again. Same way he had been looking when marco met him 3 days ago.

Jean sat down behind them. Alone on a two person table. Same as before. Same as marco.

Marco was getting used to sitting alone even if he had never really sat alone before ‘it’ happened. Now he was actually taking liking to it, but at moments like these, when watching jean sitting alone, he wanted to sit next to him.  He didn’t have the guts to do. He didn’t want to be annoying. Jean didn’t want to be bothered, it was obvious. He had ‘don’t bother me’ writen in glitter letters on his forehead.

“Hey marco” Reiner -who had probably spoken to berthold about him- whispered. Marco nodded “Do you want to come chill with some friends today?” He had seen their friends. The hyper people, the gay people, the girly guys and manly girls and jean. Jean. Jean who always seemed completely out of place in the group. The guy that  was either bragging, fighting or looking incredibly annoyed. It made you want to know his other expressions.

“I can’t sorry, a friend is coming over” A friend, he said. A friend. That’s what noah would want him to say. He would probably not even dare to kiss him in a shared room even if berthold was gone. “you can both come over”

“well I haven’t seen him in a long time so..”

“Ah.. Bromance” The word made marco’s face heat up until it was red like a raspberry.

“Y-yeah, we’re very close friends”

“Marco” his tone somehow changed “it’s fine”   Weather he meant it was okay for him not to come, or that he had a bromance, or maybe he just knew that marco was gay and it was fine, it was fine. Somehow he all of them fitted. Reiner and berthold were excepting like he had never seen before. So his words seemed honest. It was fine. It would be fine.

* * *

 

As marco walked outside he was rather excited. It would be the firts time he’d be seen with noah anywhere outside of his room They had never even had a relationship out of the bodt’s room. Noah’s room was too dangerous. At school even looking at each other was intense like making love was when in marco’s room.

Now they would be together outside of the room. On top of that they were at marco’s school. It was all just.. different.

“noah!” Marco walked towards his boyfriend as fast as he could.

“hey” Marco’s heart skipped a beat. Like always he seemed so controlled. His blond locks and a slightly fake smile.

They were at loss of words. They had none for what had happened so marco just awkwardly told some things about his new room, his new class and school. Gladly leaving out the part about his roommate beïng gay. Saying that would be like dropping a bomb; killing himself.

Anyway, all with all the converstation was pretty tight. Like it was their first date or something. Noah wouldn’t dare to kiss him in a place like this and marco didn’t have the guts to talk about the things that needed to be spoken off.  If he did.. where could he start?

“I missed you” This came from noah, who aparently found this the best way to start. It was, it really was but it didn’t sound all genuine. Marco had been told the words he had wanted to hear and still he felt slightly disapointed. It was because he knew how much easier Noah’s life without him at school was.

“I missed you too”

“Is it better here?

Marco thought for a second “They are more accepting”  and that was all marco missed before “ Not that I’ve told them..But there are some gay couples, two men that look.. well incredibly manly are acting like a married couple, they walk hand in hand and literally everyone likes them. Then there’s this kick ass angry lesbian and she turned the blond princess everyone wants to marry gay and no one cares”  marco grinned “Well except from the ones that want to date her”

“Well sorry you can’t jump into your schools gay orgie” Noah mumbled slightly pissed off

“No, no that’s not what I meant! I’m grateful you’re here even though-”  What had he done wrong anyway? He didn’t know but he had. It was his fault Noah’s perfect life was screwed up.

“It’s fine”

For a while they sat in silence. Marco wanted to hold Noah’s hand at least but the other seemed so lost in thoughts.

“noah..”  The blond finally looked up, biting his lip softly “my roommate won’t be here until late..”

“no, what if he walks in on us?”

“he won’t, I know where he is”

“What if he forgot something or-”

Marco looked away “I can text him, telling him not to come in”

“Then he knows what we doing for sure” Noah’s words were harsh, but marco was used to it; he didn’t mind.

“It’s not like you will ever see him again”  The older glared at him, the look made marco shut up. It told him that if he said one more word he would be killed.  “fine, forget I asked”

Noah placed a soft oeck on marco’s lips. He at least dared to do that much. “You’re beautiful, don’t even leave me okay?”

As if marco could. Noah was gorgeous. He was the guy everyone wanted. No matter what he did, he could make the freckled melt “Never”  Someone wanted him. That would probably never happen again. Marco was lucky he had noah, he didn’t feel like an insecure bag of dirt anymore; just a little unworthy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THank you ~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's gettin interested at least.

One time someone asked Jean “how does or would it feel to be with your soul mate?”

It was a random questopm they were probably asking everyone alse to see people’s vieuw on love. After getting thousands of sappy fucking explanations they asked Jean. The most pessimistic asshole alive. Now some time ago Jean would have thought about it. He would have thought about mikasa and how it would be to hold her. Later he found out she wasn’t even fit to be with him. No one really was.

“The same? You mean sex right? It’s only physical anyway, apart fom that soul mates don’t exist”   The lady looked as if Jean had just kicked a puppy. It was already surprising he didn’t just say ‘fuck off’ and throw the papers in her face.  Soon that would come though.

Jean almost felt bad for the women as he saw her look of disapointment.

“But-”

“Seriously just fuck off” and there it was.  Though he didn’t thow anything in her face so he still deserved some credit. Jean wondered how it would have felt if mikasa had ever answered his everlasting whines about wanting her; maybe then he would be a little more optimistic about love now. But he wasn’t. He had seen people cry and sigh about love but rarely did he see people stay together. He had couples to prove him wrong, christa and ymir, or berthold and reiner.. they were just weird. Maybe it was because they were gay. Sadly there was no way Jean was gay.

“He was so harsh, jezus” Jean heard a voice behind him mumble.

 

Now this was a legit discription of jean’s life; pessimistic with a lot of people disapointed in him. Still he managed to act incredibly cocky which could probably be called a talent at least.

“Jean!”

“Out of your room? Christa had enough of you?”

“No way, she wants me to keep it coming for ever and always, anyway why are you beïng an asshole in the at school instead of your home?”

“My home sucks, anyway the same goes for you”

“Asshole- or the not home part?”

“Both, I guess”

“Calling me asshole? Some guts for the biggest asshole alive” Ymir sat down on the table, her legs wide open as if she was a man, a cocky grin on her face.  

“Can doubt I am; You and Jeager come close to the top”

“Jeager is no where as assholic as we are”

“To me he is”  They looked at each other and wondered how they had gotten to the subject anyway. There was no doubt Ymir had walked up to him to rub the fact they were assholes in Jean’s face.   “so ymir, wha-”

“Oh yeah! Why you weren’t going home”

“Oh that..” Jean thought a second before telling her “staying away from a home a little longer makes getting killed later worth it”

“ Family love”

“Yeah sure, like they even talk to me if I get home”

Ymir put her hat on and stood up mumbling “That sucks buddy”  then started walking away from him; christa stood waiting in the door opening, waving sweetly as ymir yelled  “Having no family is the best!”  

Jean believed her. It was wrong as well as weird, but he did.

* * *

  


“Did you go home?” Marco had. He had missed his mother way too much. His relationship with his mother was way closer than those of the average family. Yet he couldn’t say the whole thing had been satisfying.  Noah had stayed over and it had ended in a fight again. Well not really a fight. Marco apologized and that was that; there was no fight back.

After the ‘fight’  marco hadn’t closed an eye. He had slept bad for a longer time. He felt locked in himself. He wanted to get through to Noah. He wanted him to know that coming out of the closet wouldn’t make his life worst;  he could be himself. Even if it was just marco. Marco didn’t want to hide. Noah found this stupid and got mad, marco not even knowing why. It wouldn’t affect Noah if Marco came out. He was outed by his friends anyway. Maybe it was because of the gay people at his school. Then again noah just had to trust Marco.

“I did, missed my mother”

“Ah I see”  berthold looked down. Shyly. That was so like him; this conversation was so like them.

“What about you?”

“I never go home”  Marco was about to say some comforting words when bertholds eyes seemed to light up  “but sometimes,  when Reiner and I have saved enough money, we go on trips”

“You’ve dating for quite some time haven’t you?”

Berthold blushed “ About two years, but Reiner had been in love with me for four or something”

Marco felt chills hit him; that was some real romance  “You are lucky”

“I am”

“Both of you”

Berthold smiled thankfully.  Marco wondered how it would be to talk about his and noah’s relation like that. He wondered why he couldn’t.  What had they done to be closeted, even to people that would respect it. What had they done?

Yet he had to keep quiet. He knew that.

So both of them sat, reading, most of the time.

“What kind of music do you listen to?”

“Whatever Reiner feels like.. everything, I guess”

Marco nodded; that was most likely not his music. It would be weird to ask if he could play his music aloud. Yet the room seemed so quiet and listening with eardrops in seemed annoying.

“Hey can I tell you something berthold?”

“Yeah, you can always do so”

Marco bit his lip slightly.  “That friend.. He’s my boyfriend”

Berthold laughed a little “We know, Marco, it’s fine”

“how?”

Berthold shrugged  “Your eyes, I guess, or maybe it was just a feeling.. no, I guess it was just a little obvious too”

“really? That’s terrible” Marco sighed, closing his yes. Berthold pannicking.

“No! No, I mean.. because we’ve been there”

“oh like that..”  It was surprisingly easy talking to berthold. So before he knew it marco was talking about everything and nothing. Berthold was the first who knew marco was dating a boy; yet he knew no name, no school, no story. That was too much, too dangerous.

Berthold understood and gladly answered other questions. “how long had he been in this school?”  “what did he want to be?”  “who was Jean kirstein and why did he always frown?”   He found out Jean was quite a spoiled little boy yet he hated his family. The family cared about their well going company only and expected jean to do the same.

He figured out Jean indeed was french but that he didn’t speak french to anyone, Still he claimed he was able to so. Jean had been in this school as long as berthold and that Kirstein had a hard time making friends that weren’t them. Berthold did agree that Jean seemed out of place but shrugged it off mumbling “I guess that’s just him, he will never look at ease somewhere”

Only after figuring out this much marco realized;  he had only been asking about the French boy. He knew more about him than about berthold himself. He had asked into detail. He was too interested for his liking, it was actually very embarrassing. He had no reason to be interested. Except from the fact that things that are just out of reach are always a lot more interesting.

And that person was Jean Kirstein.  

 

Marco felt himself staring at the moody jerk even more after his conversation with Bert. The guy sighed a lot. Sometimes randomly. As if his mind was completely normal, having avarage thoughts. About food he liked, about how pretty the girl he liked was and then suddenly he just remembered the girl didn’t want him and he had to choose between coffee and his favorite food. And then he just sighed loudly; letting his head fall on the table like he did a lot.  

Though this was just marco’s imagination running free. Maybe the guy was thinking about something traumatic, or maybe about nothing..

The freckled could hardly tell from looking at the slender back.  Still he liked doing so.

It kept his mind off Noah; untill noah was actually there. It made the lessons go by faster.  A quick smirk made marco’s day; was the guy not moody for once?

Sitting alone  became more fun, even though it also kept him from making friends. Jezus if he wasn’t so afraid of coming close to the guy he’d particularly been been staring at he would have been friends with him too. Yet everytime Reiner yelled “Marco man, come sit with us”   Marco kindly declined.  “I have homework I wanted to finish, sorry”  “Ah my mum just called me, I have to call back”  stuff like that. He came up with quite original things just to stay away from the frowning french.

No reason.

No crush.

Just because.

Okay maybe not just because.. It was because of the rush Marco got when Jean smiled. Marco didn’t like the guy. He was an asshole. Full of flaws. Mean selfish. No marco couldn’t say he liked him. He couldn’t say Jean was like a rival to Noah; as beautiful and selfless.

It was the rush.

It was something.

There was definitly something and Marco watched to figure about what it was.


	4. Chapter 4

Jean stood in front of Bertholds room. He had to go get him from his room so that they could chill. Usually Jean wouldn’t listen to Reiner but since he was so bored he was close to eating out of his nose as an distraction he did.  Obeying Reiner was already turning out to be a mistake. Never again, he promised himself while standing against the wall. Listening one person scream, and one person apologize. It seemed weird. Two people screaming; he could get there. But screaming all alone just seemed weird, it was an asshole action, even he realized that. He might have to relist the ‘most assholic people’.  

“Change your room then”

“no, noah”  that was marco. The boy sitting behind him in class, bertholds roommate.

“What? because you like to get fucked by your fucking roo-”

“because they accept me”

“Oh my god you are fucking turning me insane! Marco!”  Ouch.  What was his problem? Anyway, should I do something? Jean wondered while biting his lip.

Marco cried softly, he could hear it “I got beat up by your friends and I accepted it and you can’t even accept the fact people I talk to are gay?”

Then there was a silence. Whispers. Something Jean couldn’t even make out what it was. It wasn’t a silence but there were no clear words.

Then things thrown on the ground; shatters and a scream.  “Fuck off marco, tell the whole world you are gay for all I care but I’m leaving if you do”   Why was jean’s heart beating so fast, why was his fist so tight? As if he was ready to jump in; to fight. Of course he wasn’t, he couldn’t just do such a thing. It would be unlike him. Sure Jean liked to get in a fight or two but he didn’t randomly protect people. Unless they were named mikasa.  

More begging whispers came from marco’s side. Then the door opened.

Something Jean had not expected to happen. He had not expected to come eye to eye with the guy that had been yelling at Marco like that. It seemed as if he was spying on them. (which he totally wasn’t? well not planned).

Neither one said a thing, there was just a glaring contest. Then a glance at each other. The other guy would probably be able to win from jean in a fight, he was a blond perfect sporter. A gay guy; but lately everyone around him had been gay so that wasn’t much of a surprise anymore.

“what are you looking at?” pretty boy was the first to snap.  

Jean smirked “a little girl”

“Excuse me?!”

He turned his back and started walking “Yeah yeah sorry, you’re kind of tall so little isn’t quite right”  And how Jean was ready to get his ass kicked! but he didn’t. He didn’t get a smack on his head or a kick in his balls. Too cocky to turn around he had no idea what kind of look the other carried and he slowly started regretting not just kicking his ass right away. Then again how would he explain that to the rest of his friends?  I just had this sudden urge to protect the new kid?  I really felt like kicking the new kid’s boyfriend’s ass? How could he explain such a thing?

He wasn’t even going to try. He wasn’t going to tell anyone. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of feeling bad for marco. He was obviously being held back. Jean had noticed before that marco didn’t have any friends. Or rather he was avoiding making friends. Berthold and Reiner were more than trying to get the boy into the group but he had brushed it off.  That kind of made the freckled a jerk too. It was his own fault. It was no ones job to make marco feel at home. Yet Jean understood.. the freckled kind of made you want to.    
  


* * *

 

>   
>    
>  _No is more powerful than Yes._
> 
> _No will intimidate more than Yes._
> 
> _Still No will never be able to disregard Yes._
> 
> _The only thing that can make No nervous is Yes._

 

* * *

 

 

Marco was in his own world; like usual. Sitting alone in the second row just excused himself from a kind conversation;  like usual.   

So nothing seemed different or abnormal. This made the fact he was even more shocked when the following happened; someone pulled the empty chair out and sat down so loud it could only be one person.  Marco’s face shot to the side, and indeed saw the guy that he had recognized in the movements.  Jean. Jean kirstein.  The frowning boy didn’t look at him, he was avoiding his eyes and looking in his book for what had to be the first time this school year.  Marco couldn’t help but smile.

“Hi” he whispered looking at the boy (a little bit too intense I might add).

The other didn’t look up. An awkward and insecure gesture, which marco kind of liked to see in Jean for once “Hey”. Marco felt a little happy no matter how moody the other guy sounded. Not because of anything special. Just because he was finally sitting next to someone. Because Jean was sitting next to someone and they didn’t look incredibly awkward both sitting alone in one row.

Marco wondered what had made the change. Why suddenly the other boy sat next to him. Why The other boy was slamming his head on his table instead of on the one in front of him.  He didn’t mind sometimes ruining a letter in his notebook because jean bumped into him or moved the table. The guy had the worst concentration ever yet never did he talk to marco.  It was nice, though marco had so many words on the tip of his tongue.

When the bell rang and the break came Berthold asked what he asked every break  “Marco are you coming?¨  

he smiled “I’ve got to make a call”   I’ve got to make up with my boyfriend, tell him sorry, tell him that he understood very well noah was just afraid. That he was too.  

Give in again.   “alright, then see ya” They walked on. But one person stayed behind. One person stopped marco as he wanted to walk away. Jean stopped him with empty words.   “Wait a sec”  

And he did.  They waited until everyone was out of sight and then Jean turned to him.   “Just.. can I  say something before you make that call?”

“Sure, you’re already talking?”

“jeaz, I was just trying to be polite”  Jean said with the most annoyed glare on his face.

Marco’s looked down “Yeah sorry, what’s up?”

“I wanted to say..  that” he let his hand slide through his hair “that being afraid is not an excuse to be mean, or to treat anyone like shit” Marco’s heart skipped a beat at those words. Did Jean know too much or was Jean talking about himself here?

“What do you mean?”  

Jean growled annoyed “what I said! Uh, anyway! just keep that in mind while.. you know, calling him”   So he knew. He knew about Noah. Marco blushed and opened his mouth to say something but jean quickly cut him off  “I’m going to get something to eat, go kick some ass okay”

Marco didn’t know if he was supposed to, but he felt warm and happy. He felt like he could take on Noah. Like he could say whatever he felt like saying. Like he shouldn’t just bow down.   
He looked at his phone and threw it back in his backpack. He didn’t want to get rid of the feeling he was feeling at the moment. He didn’t want to ruin the fact he felt so good about himself.  And he smiled. Oh how he smiled! He felt so insecure and yet so confident.  

For once marco felt like being himself. He felt like making art again. He felt like dancing or playing piano again. He felt like embracing these little things his mother had given him instead of hiding them because they were considered ‘gay’.

He put my eardrops in and put on frank sinatra. Smiling he walked outside. Breathed in the fresh air. Decided to somehow start a new.

It was the first time Jean had changed my life a little.

 

That evening marco got a call from Noah. Berthold looked at him and nodded, reassuring him it would be fine to pick up.  “hey”

“I’m sorry”   And marco wasn’t, for ones the tables had turned; because he had waited.

“Yeah.. me to”

There was a sigh on the other side of the line “I don’t want to hold you back from being yourself.. just know that we can’t be seen in public then”

“We bearably are”

“Alright..”  Marco smiled slightly, genuinly.

“ Can we please stop fighting, noah?”

There was a silence “I bearably know how we always get there”

“ Yeah, I know, I don’t blame you”  He didn’t. He could still feel the places Noah had held him way too tightly or pushed him away.  

“Thanks”  

“I love you”

Silence  “ Yeah, me to”   marco looked up to see that berthold had left the room “and marco?  There’s football game coming up.. I know that you hate football and I also know that I won’t be able to look at you but..”  a smile  “I want you to look at me”  

“I will”

“I’ll send the tickets”  he mumbled.  

“Sure”  

“Alright, now I’m hanging up”

“Go a head”

“Bye”

“Bye noah”

and the call stopped. A slow beeping noise.

Rarely did he feel so happy.

And so he did what he used to do when he was that happy. He went to look for a piano in big dorm room, because he was once told they were there.

Because he was once thought that art was emotion.

Art made you understand yourself.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> marco is sassy and jean moody

Marco had found a lot of things that day.  

To start with he found the art room he had been told about. There was a piano and a large dance floor.  The mirror filling the one entire wall made him feel ridiculous sometimes, but he didn’t particularly mind. He just sat there and played piano. Jazz, classic and pop. Sometimes he sang; something he had never been the best at.  Still he found myself growing to the room, to the school and his life as it looked now, little by little. Sure he was still a little bit lonely. He missed a good friend. His lover to be there. Yet he knew he was asking for impossible things, so he took what he could get and loved it. The dance room and the piano.  

Somewhere that day, when no one had come in for hours he had put on music and  started dancing again. In sweatpants. Hair in front of his eyes.

He smiled; his mum would have scolded him if she saw him right now.

Still she would have been happy. Her boy dancing again!  You see, his mother was one of the best Ballroom and Jazz dancer of her age once. But she got injured and her recovery took to long for her to regain that position. She was still an artist though and she raised her son like one. She taught him how to play piano and how to dance, like both a boy and a girl.  

As ashamed as he was about it he had to admit he once was ashamed of the fact she taught him these things. He had cursed and yelled at her saying it was her fault he turned out to be so kind, softhearted, somehow feminine. Of course you can’t see it on the outside but he couldn’t fight, play football and curse about things in the way boys do. He blamed her for it.

He enjoyed dancing most though. And not going to lie, he had to admit enjoyed the female parts in a dance more. Because they are developed to show emotion and beauty; the male part is rarely like that without the female.  

Fresh orange.

That’s the name of the song he was dancing on.

It’s flowing, kind and happy. It’s a song that makes you feel good, that makes you look even better.  Somewhere he couldn’t believe he still had it; that he could still stretch his legs that far, that he could still control all of his body parts at the same time. That he could still be stiff and relax right after.

He couldn’t believe how much he had missed it.

When ignoring all the names that used to come into his mind- like faggot, girl, bitch etc- it wasn’t so bad. It was wonderful. At the moment he didn’t care about those names because finally it felt like he was Marco again. He wasn’t even watching the door as I danced through all the colours of jazz (that’s an album by blazo).

Maybe he should have.

No.. For sure he should have because when he stopped dancing, sweaty and all, the music down and an heavy breath, he saw the last person he wanted to see standing against the wall, next to the door.

“Jean?!” marco quickly moved my hand to cover his face and looked away.   

“You can go on you know”   

A blushing freckled “No thank you”  

Quickly gathering his stuff he saw jean smirk “Didn’t know you danced.. balet?”

“Well you don’t really know other things about me either, and it’s jazz balet”

“ And you play piano? cool, what else can you do? hiphop, violin, balroom?”

Marco didn’t know if he was spotting with him or just genuinely interested in his skills  “well actually.. I can do ballroom”  

“really?!”He jumped up  “Must be hard finding a guy wanting to dance with you though, If I’d go to ballroom I’d be there for the ladies only!”  He smirked.  Marco knew it was true, most guys were in for the ladies there.

“Well, yeah, and my boyfriend isn’t exactly a dancing type.”

Jean smirked.

Marco pulling up an eyesbrow.

The french wiggled both.

Silence.

A freckled frowned.  
The smirking smirked even wider and then held out his hand  “You gonna stand around picking daisies or are you going to dance with me?”  

Two dark brown eyes whidening. “No, nope nope, nooo, no no no” He quickly pulled on his jacket. Panicking.

“I have done hiphop, it’s not like I have two left feet”

“not the problem”

Jean laughed and followed Marco as he walked to the door.  “hey marco”

Marco looked at Jean and felt his heart beating loudly; he didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Then again, jean knew he was gay anyway.  “Yes”

“When I was little.. My mother spoke to a mother with a son wearing a skirt, that was you right?”  

Marco blushed and turned away “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  That can be quickly translated to ; please don’t hate me and please don’t hit me.

“Really? I just though.. I vaguely remember him having freckles and stuff.. is your mother lighter skinned than you are?”  Yes. Yes she was and you are completely right.

“No”

“then.. it wasn’t I guess”  Oh thank jezus and god both “I just thought with the whole artistic things and the gay thing..”

“Excuse me?!”  Now that was offending. What did he think, that marco was a drag queen or something?

Marco opened the door and walked out. Through the hallways. Back to feeling uneasy. As easy as Jean had given him confidence in his own skill he had taken it away too.  

“Marco!”    Marco kept walking “I didn’t mean that in a bad way, I mean, you can do whatever you want”

Marco stopped for a second “It’s fine”  his tone told Jean it wasn’t though.

“I know it’s not, stop hiding under that, what are you a girl?”   Marco jumped up at that. His heart sinking to his belly. He was afraid again. “Ah shit that, that was not what I meant”  

“nevermind, jean”  Marco quickly opened the door of his apartment and rushed inside. Closing the door in Jean’s face.  

He didn’t know why he had.

Maybe he was just running from the conversation, in fear of Jean knowing too much and judging him. 

Berthold gave him a confusing look, which Marco answered with an ‘please don’t ask me about it’ look.

“MARCO?!”  Jean was yelling at the other side of the door. Marco’s eyes widened; the guy had guts he’d have to give him that.

“is that jean?” Berthold asked.

“MARCO? I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT MAN”

Marco smiled a little. The guy was a moron. “Look I’m sorry if I offended you! I.. I just kind of blur out stupid things okay!?”  

Berthold nervously stood up “are you going to answer him?”  Marco smirked slightly and shook his head. “you are pure evil”  Bert mumbled surprised. Which was pretty much true; this action was kind of evil.

“Look I don’t have anything against gay people okay, you can ask bethold!”

A smile “Is gay the only thing you can say about me, and about them?! We're not the same you know.”  He smirked while berthold repeated the words “pure evil” once again.

“No! No No! You’re a good dancer and.. you pay attention in class, and you’re a boy and.. god I don’t know! I don’t even know you what are you whining about! Jeaz what am I doing?”  Marco laughed a little and unlocked the door. Revealing a stunned Jean.  

“Jean, it’s fine”

“wha-?”

“I’m not mad” he smiled reassuringly at the stunned boy “ though I was kind of offended when you implied I was a drag queen”

“I wasn’t trying to”

Marco nodded “yeah, alright”

For a second they looked at each other. Not sure what kind of impression to make. Jean bit his lip and Marco rubbed my neck. Then the younger let his hand slide through his hair, like he did more often when embarrassed.  “Can I make it up to you?” he asked.

“Seeing you run through the hallways while yelling my name on top of asking me on for ballroom dance was enough to live on for months, so there’s no need.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as I can be.”

Jean smirked cockily “and here I thought you’d be an extremely serious type, but this is all you can do?”

“Sorry to disappoint you”

Then they looked again. Both stupid smiled on their faces. Both no idea what they were doing or what was going on, but glad it was going on. At least, marco was glad.

“I should leave” Jean mumbled quickly, looking around him as if someone would scold him about the fact he was not in his room yet. Something that would definitely not happen.

“You should” They smiled “Bye jean”

“Oh yeah, bye, sorry again” who would have thought Jean could say sorry? Who would have thought he’d apologize over such a stupid thing? Was it weird it made marco feel a little special? It probably was; marco had decided as he closed the door and sat down on his bed.

Berthold didn’t ask for any further details; though he didn’t know if that was a good thing since it had most likely looked worse than that what had happened.

 

Yet marco was glad. He just wanted it to be over.

And he had thought it would be over right there.

He had thought his one day relationship with Jean would end there.  That the boy would just go back to ignoring him.

That was all.

Man was he being stupid!

If anything happened to his awkward relationship with Jean the next day it definitely wasn’t ‘ending’.  First period Jean sat down next to him- slamming the table out of place and probably hurting his butt the way he let himself fall on the chair- and grunted “I am so done with my life” which marco quickly translated to a ‘I hate mornings but I still want to greet you’.  

And so he looked up, smiled and mumbled “good morning”

“Go fuck yourself, freckleboy”  Probably a ‘good morning’. Seeing through Jean wasn’t that hard.  It wasn’t as if it really mattered what he said; it mattered that someone was talking to him and sitting next to him. That finally he didn’t have to lock his mind inside of his body just because he was afraid of being stared at or talked to in class. As weird as that might sound. He was comfortable.

 

And again- later that day- marco thought that it would end. Jean proved him wrong again.  

It was lunch break, which meant time for marco to walk away from the class (mainly Reiner and Berthold) and sit down alone somewhere while pretending to make homework or to call and text Noah.  So he did, he walked away, only now a certain grumpy man kept walking next to him. As if they did it every day!  He just kept on talking about how he hated Eren and his parents, how much all the food sucked and how he had never eaten proper lunch because a girl (sasha?) kept eating his food. Again, as if they did it every day, and on top of that he talked with names without explaining them. Eren? Mikasa? Connie and Sasha?  Some were in his class but some were a mystery. He barely knew if they were boys of girls the gay Jean talked about them.

The only thing he knew they all had in common was;  Jean could find something about them that annoyed him to no extend.

Except from Eren, Eren was just a ‘thing’ that annoyed Jean to no extend. Literally to no extend because Jean WOULD NOT SHUT UP ABOUT IT.

“So Yeager! -fucking bastard he is- embarrassed me in front of mikasa. So I kicked his ass, which he totally deserved, and then mikasa was mad at me! Jesus, I didn’t do anything. But Mikasa is so fucking obsessed with Eren, same goes for Armin by the way. I bet they’re both sucking his dick-”

“Jean!- don’t say such a thing, I bet they’re really nice”

“Just because someone sucks dick doesn’ t mean they’re not nice”  he smirked “ I mean.. you’re nice”

Any fucking car would have stopped if they had put marco on the middle of a road that moment; he was so red his head felt like exploding. “Y- You are horrible”

“Aware of that” He sipped his coffee cockily making Marco realize; if you give Jean enough coffee he’ll stay rather “happy”.  It would be horrible to be Jean’s roommate. Someone waking up that moody every day, probably making you go for a coffee run.  Still.. somewhere..

“Hey SwagFag” Marco’s head shot up. Only to see that they weren’t talking to him but to Jean. Straight and manly Jean. He didn’t know if that confused him more or less.

“Watch the language Ymir,  you’re offending freckled Jesus”  he pointed at me, making blood rise to my face. Because of the nickname, because of all the people finding out I was gay and also a little because of the stares.

“He’s freckled Jesus now? and c’mon how is that offending if I had more vagina’s in my face than-”   Her girlfriend- cute and blond- hit her in her ribs so that she would shut up. That too was a surprise. Apparently it wasn’t for Ymir, who kept a cocky smirk on her face.

Marco didn’t know what to do at the moment. Whether he should be mad at jean for giving such a thing as the fact he was gay away or happy because the two girls just gave that vibe.

Ymir sat down on the table on front of marco  “So new kid, you got a bae or nah?”

“Ymir!” The small blonde pushed the freckled tall girl out of the way  “That’s her way of saying welcome”  Her apologetic blue eyes made me feel at ease. Her light pink smile made you feel welcome “I’m christa”

He took her hand “Marco”

“Don’t let the angry two scare you away” As if, he had been with Jean a whole day and he was still alive. He thought he was becoming pretty much immune.

“Thanks”

This made Jean shoot up “I have done nothing to scare him”

“You implied I was a drag queen, Jean”  Jean’s mouth fell open while Marco chuckled devilishly.  Ymir interrupting the eye contact between them  “Jesus Jean,  don’t do that, that’s like implying I’m a tom”  With all of them looking at the girl’s Baggy Jean’s and black snapback the blond hit her again.  “Will you shut it ymir, go on and you’re getting none”

And did that do the trick!

 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorks being dorks

“Babe, what do you want?”  marco grinned and took noah’s smiling face up in him. Wanting to remember it for forever.

“I want nothing”

“Nothing? Really?  Not even shoes, a new sweater, you should buy a lighter color you wear so much natural colors..  What about food?”

Marco chuckled “If I’d been a gold digger you would have noticed by now so no thanks”

Noah playfully bumped against him, like his hand had done quite often while walking through the mall. Making him lust for a touch. He just wanted to hold his hand,never had he thought he would lust that much for something that simple.  “Then.. I’ll take you to dinner and then we go to a movie, how does that sound?”   

“Great”  

Then the blonde frowned “If you see something you like though-”

“Noah!”

They walked on. Smiling. Hands bumping together, hearts jumping and pulling together.Noah was afraid of holding marco in public, afraid of the stares,  but still bit by bit he was getting closer.

Sometimes his lover would look at him with eyes that said so much he could never understand what it meant. Then seconds later he’d raise his head with a prideful look. Trying to impress the world around him. Trying to impress marco too, maybe. Still he’d whisper sweet things as if they were nothing. As if they didn’t make marco blush like a mad one!

“I started dancing again”  marco whispered afraid of his reaction.

“Really? That’s nice..” it was the truth, he was happy,  he just didn’t want to see marco dance. It made him feel too feminine. Too gay.

“Yeah, and I played piano too, there’s actually a nice space for that in our school”

“That’s good, art must have been hard in the dorms”  Like noah would ever understand art.. he was a sports man.

Not that this mattered.

“It’s always hard.. waking up in the middle of the night. Loving turns into art, being mad turns into art”

“you’re weird”

A smile “yeah”

“You ever done anything bout me?”

Marco nodded. Making him smile a little, his face close to noah's. Nice closeness.

It was nice having him close. The world around them gone for a bit. Noah came out with him in public, like he rarely did. Not near school still, nor near his house but in public anyway. And It was the best feeling.

“I love you marco”  there words slid out of his mouth like they were nothing. They always did. Sometimes marco wondered if they were as heavy for noah as they were for him. Then he’d realize they must be harder for noah.

“me-”

 

“Noah!?” Voices from behind them. The man who claimed to love marco backing away from him as if he just realized he was just a piece of trash. As if he’d been hypnotized into loving dog shit.  Marco hated that look most. Nothing in the world was as painful; they might as well have stabbed him right away

Noah turned “Hey guys!”  

“Are you with-?”

The blonde looked at marco. Making him beg and cry inside. Not again. Not this time.  “No we bumped into each other.  His mother was making an artwork for my mother and I made him make my homework back then.. so, now getting it back”    Good try noah, good Job on lying again. You seem to become more of a pro every day. Who will you lie to next? Me, yourself? You’ve already had everyone else in the world. Marco thought; too bitter to for his own liking

“Dayum, can he do mine?” Built sports boys in expensive clothing staring at him.  

One guy snorting “I wouldn’t even want him to touch my stuff!”  A stab in his heart. Marco even felt disgusted with himself because of the words. 

It didn't matter.   
Marco's own feelings weren't his first priority. 

Noah was safe; lucky his friends are stupid.

Lucky marco was not someone to loose my temper.  

“So you gonna hang out with the faggoty all day, do the little cute kissy kissy thing or you gonna hang out with us?”  What?

Do they mean that?

No it was a joke marco.

It was a joke.

“hell no, gross, guys, what the fuck” Such a disgusted face at the idea. Such a lovely face when he was actually doing so.. marco knew that. Still he felt like the Noah Noah was right now meant those words.

a group snickering “Just kidding bro, so you coming?΅

“Yeah whatever, to where?”

“mc donalds and then a movie.. Thinking about avengers or such a thing”   Marco’s heart skipped a beat. That’s what they wanted to do. Only a bit more classy. Mc donalds and Avengers was not really.. his style.

Still it was too alike. Noah agreed to it like it was nothing; like marco wouldn’t care. Like marco would understand.  Which he did! He did understand and that was the worst. Why did it always end up like this when it was finally looking all perfect again? What had he done in his past life to get noah’s friends to show up at the wrong moments?

“Sounds cool”  At least deny it!  At least try to find an excuse. Say your mother wants you home. That a new game came out. That you’ve got personal training. Marco thought panicking.

He truly was panicking.

Not sure if he could handle Noah leaving him alone now.

WIthout money; Noah had told him not to bring money.

Without his mother at home; they were out in the first place because they would be alone all day and they would have the house for themselves (which meant sweet love making without Noah being afraid)

He didn’t have a car; Noah had a car.

“Alright let’s go”   and they left. Ignoring Marco completely. Noah not even sending an apologetic look.  Not even saying his name ones.

Marco was standing alone in the busy street. Almost dinner time and without car or money

He  broke down.

At first he walked a bit, thinking about options.

He had lost all his friends that lived close.

His mother was out of town; which automatically meant his only friend was out of town.

Right to ask anything from anyone at school was something he didn’t have.. he hadnt exactly been the most open person to them. On top of that he didn’t have anyone’s phone number.

Quickly he calculated how long it would take for him to get home by feet. The thought alone made him tired. It would take hours. Still he didn’t see another option. He started walking. With every step his feet hurt a little bit more; who’d had known that pain in the heart can go all the way to your feet?

Marco sat down.

Sad and tired. Have you ever been so Sad and tired you do completely foolish and unreasonable things? Locking yourself in a toilet, accepting the fact that you’ll live in your bed under the sheets, cutting yourself, drinking too much… sitting on the side of the road and decided not to take a single step anymore until someone comes to pick you up. Whoever it is.

Jesus it only had to start raining and everything was perfect.  

Well.. at least people wouldn’t notice that he was at the venge of tears;  Disappointment is harder on an human than expected pain.

Noah had no right to screw marco up like this!   He was afraid. Alright. Marco knew, he didn’t mind. But why did he always end up sad and alone because Noah was afraid of who he was? Marco cared so much about the blonde.. so he accepted the fact.. he embraced it.

For noah..

 

_being afraid is not an excuse to be mean, or to treat anyone like shit_

The worlds Jean had told him rang in his head. For a second his worries were close to gone because all he could think about was how much of a moron Jean was. Still He realized Jean was right, and smart. On top of that he realized that Jean had meant something else by saying those words. He was trying to say  ‘I’m here to help’.  

And so he would be.

Ashamed marco took out his phone and stared at the words Hottest French on this Planet ;)  which Jean had put in his phone himself.  Freckles moving as the end of his lips moved up. As his heart calmed and he hid himself behind his hand. Automatically. He was embarrassed that he was happier just because of Jean.

He clicked the number and swallowed away his tears.   “Jean kirstein”   that had to be the most moody sound he had ever heard through a phone.

“Jean? Hey, this is marco”  A silence on the other side  “We have class together.. Freckles, berthold’s ro-”

“Yeah Yeah I know I was just suprised”  he hurriedly mumbled.  

A silence fell once again. Awkward, marco’s heart beating anywhere and in any pace except from the right one.   What was he thinking asking a guy he had just met for help?!  “Jean.. I was wondering, do you live close to the mall?”

“Not exactly close but I have a car so it doesn’t matter, why? You aren’t asking me on a date right? Like.. that’s okay but just no ho-”

“Jean. I’m not.. I’m sorry”  His voice cracked. Why was sadness washing over him again?  

“No No! It’s fine if you want, sorry, I mean.. I could.. like.. whatever right?”  Was that even suppossed to be a sentence.

“I’m sorry, I’m being egoistic..” He sighed painfully  “Noah left me here, without money or a car and you’re the only one I could think of.. No one knows, No one cares, so I just hoped.”  Pain in his head, Tears in his eyes again  “You have your own life, I shouldn’t rely on that, sorry really”

Noise on the other side of the line was the only thing proving that Jean hadn’t hung up yet. It took forever until a reply came  “I’m in my car now, where are you?”

A warm feeling spread through Marco as he told Jean the details. Short. No furter conversation. Which was good because while Jean was driving while calling he was risking his life too; he insisted it was alright and that he was a skilled driver when Marco commented on it.  Eventually he hung up listening to marco’s commend to drive safer and legal.

* * *

 

When a Jaguar drove up and parked at the exact place where you shouldn’t park something told Marco  Jean had arrived. He lazily lifter his head from his knees so the french could see him and smiled. Jean frowned and waved slightly.   “You have the dumbest fucking boyfriend in the entire fucking world! I hope you punched him in the face and fucked his best friend right after”  

Surprise.  “No.. no, he couldn’t help it”

“How the fuck is that?”

I looked away “His friend showed up and -”

“Your boyrfriend got scared. You have to be the most naïve person in the entire universe! Did you even think about what I said for one second?”   

Yes. Yes It had rang in his mind ever since Noah left him alone to drown in insecurity  “Did you come here to trash talk me? Because to be honest I’ve had enough of that for today”  He was being unfair. He knew that. Jean had come all this way to help him. He should be thankful. He was. Really.

Jean slammed both hands on his head and grunted as hard as he could. Making all the people in the street look at him “Just get in the fucking car freckled Jesus.”

“Yeah, sorry”

Jean sighed “Don’t be. It’s normal for friends to do stuff for each other, even though I know that doesn’t really aply to your fucking group”  Friends huh?

“It does to yours?” Jean frowned slightly, thinking.

“I have no real close friends..”

They drove in silence for the rest of the road. Hiphop varied with some rock here and there coming out of his radio. The leather chairs cold and uncomfortable but better than the cold outside. Marco shifted and pulled his sweater over his hands.  “There’s an ass heater button next to the seat”  

Marco cuckled while looking for the button “Thanks Jean” for everything.

“No problem”   For a second Jean looked away from the road and smiled.

Something new.

The most heartwarming think Marco had ever seen.  

“I’m sorry.. this is not your music is it?”

“ Music about butts and boobs.. well.. not really no”

“It’s not all about that”  he smirked and put a calmer song on. Proving his point.  It made marco depressed really.  Jean saw it.  He bit his lip and frowned.  “There are some other cd’s under the chair”

“Why there”

Jean grinned “because it’s my life and I decided how to live it!”

“Wow, so rebelious” marco mumbled while going through the cd’s.  “Micheal Jackson alright with you?”

“Fine, don’t know if it still works though, haven’t liste-”  Jean stopped talking as eminem stopped rapping and looked at marco. A smirk on his face.  “it’s not the original”

“I don’t care”  

The way you make me feel blasted through the speakers and marco couldn’t help but smile.   “Should I be afraid you’ll start dancing?!”  Jean yelled over the music as marco turned it up.  The answer came in moves instead of words.. well also in words; the lyrics sung.

The movements polite, small, a head moving in the way micheal Jackson would do.  Untill Jean started singing too. Something snapped and they both started yelling the lyrics while looking at each other. Marco felt happy. As if he was able to forget Noah. Songs made him feel like that more often but somehow his mind always traveled back to what had happened. Right now Jean’s horrible singing was keeping him from doing so. The blonde’s  singing  probably damaged his brain or something.

Giving directions to marco’s house became smooth criminal and somehow saying  ‘to the left’ or ‘to the right’ fitted the song disturbingly well.  

Blame it on the boogie “Don’t blame it on the;  oh we’re here”   

“Nice, you should become a songwriter”  Marco tried his best to glare at Jean but failed.  They fell into silence.  All because marco was not whether he should ask or not; whether it would be weird or not.  

And so he decided to not be afraid. Something new. Somehow a sign of rebellion against Noah.  “You’d like to come inside?”   

“I uh..”

“I have good food”  He didn’t know if he had but he had to insist a little?  Jean pulled up his eyebrows with a smirk and opened his door casually.

“Let’s go then”

* * *

  


“You don’t have a girlfriend you wanted to spend the day with?”

Jean rubbed his head while swallowing some chips (Thank god they had those because marco’s argument was almost proved invalid)  “I don’t” He was blushing, good heavens he was blushing “I mean like! I totally have girls digging me but it just seems stupid..  dating turns into fighting and it-”

“What gave you that idea? Aren’t you a little young to have lost faith in love?”

Jean laughed “Aren’t you a little bit too fucked over to still do?”  

“No.”  

Jean shrugged and looked away “whatever, you have games?”

“Only mario card”   Jean snorted and laughed. Marco knew Mario cart was not manly and specially since he had the last one but he still liked it.  Noah had whined about it to and threatened to give marco an playstation to which he had replied with ‘no that you, I really dislike those things’  ‘an xbox than?’ had been the conclusion Noah had token.  Marco was actually really glad he could live without feeling the need to game every second of the day. It kept his hobbies and school results up really.

Still at the moment it was nice.. after getting his heart broken once again throwing sheilds and bananas at the guy that has to be the guy who curses most in the entire world, was rather satisfying. Marco wasn’t better than Jean, it started to seem impossible once they had played for a while. Still he wasn’t bad. He actually came close enough to get Jean nervous enough to yell at him “I’m going to kill your fucking freckled ass and feed you your own freaking balls”   When Jean got mad he got his french accent again, that made the threats a little less fearsome.

“I will rip your Father’s face off and sew it onto your mothers boobs” he screamed, making marco chuckle.

“Really Jean?”

“Too much?”

“No.. no you can rip my fathers face off.. just, stay away from my mothers boobs”  

Jean laughed,  letting the subject fall “Sure”   Marco smiled at him. Jean was actually not that bad when not frowning. All the times marco had thought ‘what an asshole’  seemed to disapear with every curse word he said. Of course that was weird, curse words were mean than a frown but not in this case. In this case it seemed as if Jean’s motive was ‘let’s see how much weird shit I can say to take marco’s mind off his boyfriend’  and it was working. It was working so damned well.   “Is your mother hot though? And single?”

A hit on Jean’s head  “Stay away from my mum you pervert!”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Why?”  

Marco looked to where Jean was lying, his music on softly; jean had started taking liking to it even if he would like to deny it.  “Why what?”

Jean frowned as the next song started, something french, marco wondered if he knew what the song meant “Why do you like him? How the hell did you even end up with that fucking asshole?”  The curses again, marco was a fool for thinking jean had lost himself my lying next to him in a beautiful night with peaceful jazz on the background.

“He was the polular football guy, I was the silent nice guy.. He didn’t want to be gay but it was obvious to me, I pushed him kindly and more and more he’s giving his life up for me but this progress, it isn’t finished yet.. He wasn’t even thinking about wheter he was gay or not”

“But you knew..”

“Yeah, I ruined him really.. but oh well I’m thankful he’s brave enough to love me”  I smiledat my hands.

“He’s not fucking brave! You should be thankful for shit!”  Silence. A heavy heartbeat. A smile. Two people nervously sitting next to each other, barely knowing each other.

“Thank you for worrying about me Jean”  Jean turned his head at marco, his jawline thight; Jean was skinny “Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Fuck yeah!”

comfortable. Being with Jean was comfortable to him. Next to each other they both didn’t really feel the need to ask whether or not jean would stay; he would. They went from intense talking to gaming and laughing, secretly getting to know each other better and better.

Jean was actually quite the caring person he was just a little bit grumpy and hater the majority of humanity. Including his parents who only cared for their reputation.  Jean wasn’t a son his parents his parents could brag about ; he claimed.

“Can you speak french?”

Jean looked a little bit torn between proud and annoyed; smirking in the progress “Yeah, but I won’t”

“Oh come on! You’re not going to keep the Jazz man from French”

“Oh I wouldn’t want to offend the lord-Jazz.”

Marco laughed and hit Jean with a pillow “Watch it or I will put my jazz back on”

“Just watch the damned avengers TwinkleToes.”

Noah has just watched this movie; marco thought. Maybe watching this with the hot mean French guy on the IMAX app was his revenge towards noah.  Well.. it wasn’t exactly like marco still thought Jean was just the grumpy French guy after this evening. He had become so much more in just a few hours. He had saved marco’s ass. Marco could imagine himself still sitting on the side of the road; almost midnight, dark out, crying.   Was Jean a friend? Maybe not they weren’t quite there yet but marco had figured the red line of Jean’s story, Jean of marco’s and they were curious for more. Wasn’t that enough?  Right now they were just strangers in the night, hopefully they would wake up to be more than that. To be more than others.  

It’s insane how life works really.

One day you walk up to a blank piece of paper and the longer you look at it, the more colors it will get.

Sometimes you start disliking it.   
I won’t lie; some people dig the whole black paper thing.

But sometimes.. it just turns out so wonderful.

The bell rang, jean shot up “Holy fuck, I’m not scared but we shouldn’t open that door because murders.. and stuff”  Yeah, in the last hours marco had also found out the other wasn’t as tough as he looked; aggressive to anything safe,  yeah, just the murders and supernatural things weren’t really his thing.

“Jean calm down, probably the neighbor or something, have you forgotten that I actually have those? And friendly ones that aren’t trying to kill me”

“Are you implying my neighbors are trying to kill me?”

Marco stood up and smiled “Maybe”

As he walked to the door Jean followed right behind me, his breath on the freckled shoulder, though his posture was casual he had a worried frown (or maybe it was just stuck on his face?)

Well, anyway, all of the worrying jean had done turned out to be in vain.

Noah was standing in front of the door, puppy eyes and all. A wave of pain going through marco when he saw his face. The feeling of immediately wanting to forgive him. Again.  Tell him that he would have waited in that cold, next to the road, for hours and hours if he’d ask to.

His face was just too beautiful.

“Turned out I was right, something creepy did turn up”  Marco heard Jean mumble behind him.  

Noah shot up, aggressively walking up on us “Why is he here?”

“He came to pick me up when you left me, you should be thankful” marco said slowly.

Noah grunted “You didn’t take long to replace me at least”

Jean pushed marco out of the way and glared at the other “Did you even listen to what he just said you asshole?”

“I did, but it didn’t make me feel a whole lot better about the situation”

“It didn’t make you feel better?! How do you think Marco felt when sitting alone by the road, left alone and cold because of fucking you!”  Marco quickly held Jean back whispering words to calm him, to make him stop saying those things. Nothing worked. Jean was too pissed off he was defending noah.

“Like I could help that! I feel bad alright?”    

Marco walked outside “Yeah yeah, it’s alright”

“No, it’s not” Jean snorted.

Noah glared “I swear I will fucki-”

“Try me”

“Do you even know who I am?”  Low blow, noah.

“I think I made it clear I knew exactly who and what you are the last time we met” Marco’s mind rushed. The last time they met? So they had met before? Was that where the grudges came from? Why the two reacted so aggressive to each other? Marco had thought it was just the fact their personalities worked that way.  

“Marco make him leave” Noah mumbled while walking their way, he stood still when close to marco “Please baby, we need to talk this over”   he wanted to yell and hav sex right after; marco didn’t mind really.   

Noah pushed Jean aside and walked into the house, the two stood completely still as they heard the fridge open.

“You’re not going to do anything?” Jean asked; shocked, disappointed?

Marco looked at the ground “He’s my boyfriend.. we need to talk this over”

Jean’s eyes said that he already knew marco wanted to send him away. That he was disappointed in the him he had got to know in the last hours. Marco didn’t like the look. He wanted to make everyone happy, he couldn’t stand people being disappointed in him yet it happened all the time.    “You’re going to send me away”  it wasn’t a question.  It was a statement. A statement that made marco want to die inside. Jean had ruined his day to come pick him up and comfort him. Jean had not minded the fact he was gay and had lain beside him as if it was nothing. No fears, no other intentions.

“I’m sorry”

“No don’t be”  those words sounded so pissed off. The quick translation;  ‘fuck marco, I didn’t think you’d be like this, you are fucking horrible, fuck fuck fuck, I hate you’.  Marco thought his translations were still on point.  “Just make up with your boyfriend like you did a few days ago and have your heart broken tomorrow”  Sarcasm. Painful. The truth.

“You don’t know what it’s like Jean, maybe you should just not get too involved, I can handle it on my own”  He wasn’t trying to blame Jean; he really wasn’t. He just wanted to feel a little less bad about himself.

Jean frowned deeply and looked away “The moment tears were shed in my car I thought I was involved, sorry for thinking that, stupid”  Sarcasm. Sarcasm. Jean knew very well that that made everything more painful.

“You are! It’s just-”

“Don’t explain it marco.. go inside, kick some ass, I hope you break up with him”  For the first time Jean was kind and genuine. It made marco’s heart speed up.  

“Thank you, jean”

“Yeah, I’m not going to say it’s fine because it’s not, but you’re welcome, I guess”

“Alright, I understand”

Jean smirked “No you don’t, I mean literally; you are welcome. Come to me, my house, call me if you even need to”

such intense words for a man he barely knew.

They looked at each other for a while. Marco smiling sadly while Jean glared with a hint of care.  It was cold. Marco had goosebumps all over his body. It made him look even more stipped.

“MARCO!”  A yell from the other room. The duo shot out of their trance.

Jean quickly took his bag from the floor and walked to the door. “Good luck”

Marco smiled “Don’t worry, he’s not that bad”  Jean imitated his words with the ugliest face marco had ever seen and walked to his car “Thank you!”

“Yeah fuck off” He was being friendly again.

“and jean.."   Jean looked up “See you monday?”

“no..”   A heart shattering. Had he really messed up that bad?   “I’ll come by your room on sunday evening”  aah.. Thank god. 

“Sounds good”

He left. Marco feeling a stab in his heart. He didn’t mind being alone. He didn’t care Jean left. It was just that what he had done was terrible. It was horrible and he hadn’t even thought about it. Then again, he couldn't just send Noah away. He came to apologize.. Jean should understand.

The thing just was that marco knew Jean didn’t understand.  Jean wasn’t in love so bad he’d give everything up for it. Mainly himself; he wouldn’t give himself up for anyone. Jean looked confident. If people hated him he’d just let him be. He was living a comfortable life without any close friends and hissed at everyone trying to get too close; like a cat.  

“Babe?”  Still, when this perfect damned face turned to him and he was lost. He didn’t even think it was worth it anymore. In the sane moments he didn’t at least.. His sane moments were most painful still, because he also knew that when Noah looked at him he would be done. He would be the nice, freckled fag without a boyfriend for him. Why?  Why couldn’t it be someone who treat better? he'd think from time to time. Was he really that much of a face chaser? Or was he just in love with the idea of a complicated love?  He didn't know anymore. There was no reason anymore, just a cycle. 


	8. Chapter 8

Marco didn’t really consider himself feminine. Nor did he think he was very much a bottom in any way. With Noah it just sort of happened. Noah would feel to gay otherwise. To exposed. Marco didn’t really mind. It was true he’d be comfortable with either, noah clearly wasn’t. Who was he to hate his boyfriend for such a thing? No use making a mountain out of a molehole anyway. There was no problem, there never was when he was doing something for noah.

Well except from after the fight. They had sex like they had had so many times, lovingly and way too dramatic for their own good.  Further details on that one will be spared; you’re welcome.  

Anyway, after their moment full of apologies in heated kisses something felt off.

The kisses weren’t as heated.

Marco’s mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t care less about the sloppy apologies. He felt kind of empty. Somewhere he almost started to wonder where his feelings had gone.

He got them back.

He got them back when he needed to face Jean, that was worst of all actually. He was ashamed and afraid Jean would hate him for what he had done.  He wanted to scream ‘I swear that’s not how I am!’  yet the whole thing seemed hard to believe. a simple question would throw his argument in the trash.  Marco felt disgusting.  Disgusted with himself. Like he literally wanted to take a shower, because he felt dirty. It must have been the same feeling people have when being forced on sex, when someone rapes you.  It hadn’t been the case. He had wanted Noah at the moment and in the rush.  Only now the feeling of rapture became stronger the closer he got to Jean’s dorm room.  Stupid really.

Marco only knocked ones, softly, yet the door opened within seconds. Jean tried to act cool though his face gave away that he realized how much we was going against his own personality.

“ Been to your room yet?”  No hello. No ‘fuck you marco’.  Then again the question was just weird. ANd marco’s answer would make it even more weird. Because he hadn’t. He had just gone to Jean’s room right away. He wanted to explain the fact he wasn’t always love struck stupid as fast as he could.

“No” His voice lacked the casualness jean’s held.  “No I haven’t”  better, not there yet.

“Good, don’t do so, I’m positive there’s some real dick suckin’ goin’ on there.”  

Marco frowned “wha- oh”  Looking around was the answer;  Reiner was there, nor was berthold.

“Yeah ‘oh’ ,  my life’s becoming some kind of sausage party”

“Awh, poor you”  Jean looked up. His face giving away nothing. Our of Jokes? Done with the casualties? Wanting to kick him out for being such a lying desperate homo? Whichever, his face changed terribly.   So marco said the only thing that came to his mind “I’m sorry jean, really”

“It’s fine man..” he frowned “well not fine, like you are fucking dumb and you’re boyfriend is the worst person on this planet.. but I’m not mad.. or anything”

“Oh.. That’s-”

Jean scowled “I want to kill that guy though! Punch that cocky face off him, fucking pisses me off”

Marco chuckled, light-heartedness coming back quickly with Jean around. The disgust and pain falling off him “Please don’t kill my boyfriend’

“I won’t, it will only make your freaking Romeo and Julian issues bigger”

“and then you’d be.. my father?”  

jean thought “I could be anyone, lot of people die and kill in shakespear right? I could just randomly kill people and I’d be fine”

“Right..  Jean I think you game too much, police doesn’t think it’s fine”

Jean laughed “I’ll just say I’m playing out a shakespeare part, kill your boyfriend with my mad artistic skills”

“I’d totally fall for that if I was a cop” He should have tried to protect Noah. Jean should have been pissed off more than he usually was. Instead he seemed happier,  cracking jokes about poetry and art all the way. Jesus it was lovely seeing Jean like that.  Maybe Jean really was a blessing in disguise. Maybe this guy that only did things that screamed ‘asshole’  secretly did things that screamed ‘good friend’ too.  Maybe that frown was nothing to be worried about.. maybe it had always just been there to laugh at, because Jean was the biggest idiot.

“Hey Jean?”  Jean hummed, a smile softly playing on his lips “How long do you Reiner and berthold need to have sex?”  

Jean’s time to translate. It wasn’t hard to translate it. Jean was thinking the same. They needed an excuse to hang out.   “Quite some time, I’ve got games?”

“Mario cart?”  

Jean laughed genuinely “no not mario cart!  Jesus you are seriously so bad at being an average teenage boy”

“I’ll take that as a compliment”  

“Do whatever, I’m going to win at Call of duty”

Marco frowned “I highly doubt I’ll be good at that”  He had done it once, didn’t end so well.  It wouldn’t this time either. He figured out after a few hours of hearing Jean yell and curse about that they would never Team up again. Still it felt kind of safe.   “Marco you can’t do that shit!”  Became a complement to him. Securance.  “THE OTHER FUCKING BUTTON”  was a sentence he started to like after a while. It was nice.. Fun.  He finally felt like a normal boy his age. Which he was.. It was just that people viewed him otherwise and he slowly started to believe it. But Jean didn’t.

* * *

  
  


So Jean was not going to deny he had a fucking problem. Because shit, he really did have a problem with the whole Marco thing. Thing is, it wasn't Marco who was his problem.  Marco was anything but a problem, someone who made up for his cursing and who smiled as much as he frowned. Reassuring words making his pessimism seem distant. Honesty making his lies seem even worse. Too honest and too… too foolish.

Really fucking foolish actually,  foolish for believing in the thing that was Jean’s problem. Marco’s fucking boyfriend. He wasn’t jealous or whatever, don’t even go there. He was just pissed off. Literally everything about the guy made Jean want to stab him. Skin him alive and throw him in the dead sea.  All the weird murder fantasies in his mind seemed to bloom since he had met the fucker. And then there was marco going ‘noah’ this ‘noah’ that. Jean couldn’t even stand the name anymore.

The reason he hated this fuckboy was simple ;  Marco deserved better.

Someone who’d walk with him hand in hand. Go on double dates with him and some cute girl. Kiss marco in the middle of the streets and dance with him. Marco deserved better. Not some closeted sucker.  Not that jean could be any better. Or that he’d even want to.  It was just that when seeing Reiner and Bertholds relationship there was happiness glowing all over. Happiness punched him in the face like a bitch and laughed at him. Same goes for Christa and Ymir.  He just thought marco deserved the same. The one freckled and one cute. The one dark haired and one blond. Open and proud. Both. Always.  

Marco deserved it.

The Freckled Jesus deserved a lot better. Even Jean wasn’t sure he was a rightful person to befriend the saint.

“I buy coffee with me”

Marco laughed “We shouldn’t have played until that late”

“Shit happens”

“But it happens in my bedroom, what if they had buttsex in my bed Jean?!”  

Jean laughed as much as he could laugh in the early morning and walked on. It was a miracle Marco was having him do things like that in the morning; laughing and walking. Amazing.

Maybe he felt tired, and probably way too fucked up. And yeah, he was a little bit disturbed at how much Reiner ALWAYS smelled like sex. Still his mood was not bad at all. In fact, he hadn’t felt as good in years.

“Deal with it, I did for so long”

Marco grunted “God I wished I could stay with you and we could get this sex thing over with”

His heart stopped for a little while. Staring straight ahead. Blushing, most likely “You wouldn’t want that”

“Hell yeah I do”

 

A Hit against his head. Out of the fucking blue. A loud “hey Horseface!” Following.  

“Eren, god damnit”  His good mood far far away by now.

“You guys fucking now? Catching a bit of the conversation; living together, getting the sex over with, jean being an asshole, newbie wanting to frick him? Sounds really straight, Rein and bert in?”  

Jean frowned “Is that what it sounded like?”

“Hell, that’s what it looks like”  

His eyes traveled to a certain freckled next to him, his blush now making his freckled look even nicer. An apology on his face.  “No, no, no, That ‘s not- I-”

Actually the fact that marco would feel bad for making him look ‘gay’ hurt him. Marco seemed like a proud guy but he expected everyone to be ashamed of him! Be disgusted and weirded out.   “Marco’s got a boyfriend”

Eren felt into silence. Looking at marco with his mouth open. Marco blushing like he was about to punch him in the face. He actually felt kind of bad for dropping the fact marco was gay like that. Then again the freckled would have never said it himself.  “Oh shit, sorry marco, didn’t mean to offend you with my homo jokes, it’s in the group.. it’s a thing, don’t let it bother you”

Jean’s heart only started beating when marco smiled “Don’t worry Jean called me a drag queen the first time he met me”

“will you ever drop that one?!”

“nope, probably not”

Eren grinned, mikasa and armin coming their way  “I like him, he pisses you off”   If only eren knew that quite the opposite was happening to him.

“Marco make him stop or I will fucking kill him”

“I’d like to see you try”

“Goddamnit, I haven’t had my coffee, so you should shut the fuck up”

And that was it, that’s how he stormed off towards the coffee place and Marco followed him with a stupid smirk on his face.  It was nothing. Nothing much, yet it felt like so much to them. It was the first big step to becoming ‘them’ to becoming something together and on their own.  The first time coming out to a straight person had been so easy for Marco, you could tell by the surprise in his eyes. It seemed like the first time Jean threatened to kill Eren, but didn’t feel like killing anyone actually. Marco calmed him down.  Not too much thought, because he also kept his day interesting, enough to stay awake before his first cup of coffee. While running through the halls. A kind smile on marco’s face. A smile that said ‘you’re an idiot’.  The smile wasn’t all that bad.. it made him feel nice.  “Don’t look at me like that twinkletoes”

“Really avatar reference?”

Jean chuckled “Could call you ‘really bad at being good’ or ‘bam boom clabam man’ too, because those really seem to fit”

“Yeah sure, sarcastic meat guy”  

Jean laughed “If I wore a ponytail it would look like that” he mumbled proudly while sipping his coffee.   “You know, guy who gets all the chicks”

“I don’t know if I like you better before or after you had your coffee” Marco mumbled sarcastic. His eyes jokingly gleaming. A few freckles getting lost in the wrinkle caused by his smile. A kind darkness, it must have been. Getting lost in a dark cave didn’t seem comforting but to Jean getting lost in marco’s dark wrinkles, freckles all around and a sweet noise coming out of his mouth, was very comforting. He got lost in it and only realized when he got out again, like the freckles did when Marco’s smile died down.  Jean’s heart jumped a little, followed by a ‘no homo, I’ve just not been so close to a good friend in a while.. like.. a while that means ever’  in his mind.   

“Asshole”

  
And so class wasn’t the same anymore. Jean didn’t feel like constantly throwing his head on the table. When he did he looked to his side where marco was sitting. Eyes on the teacher. An intelligent and somehow still stupid look on his face. Or dorky. “Nerd” Jean had mumbled somewhere, getting a glare and an “Oh shut it you” thrown his way. He laughed. Which made the teacher yell at him. And it didn’t matter. He had his coffee, he had his coffee colored friend. It was all fine. Things didn’t really matter. 


	9. Chapter 9

Jean’s fingers are slender. They are rough and his nails are bitten short. It fits his frown but when he’s laughing his nails seem a little out of place. He hides them then, unconsciously. He’s always nervously touching his own hands. Or sometimes his hair, when he wants to say something sweet or embarrassing. When he moves his hands like that.. marco can see his next words coming.  

When Jean slept his face relaxed a little. A nice look, marco thought. Though sometimes he frowned again and pushed his jaw together. His face looked mature when he did that, but it disturbed Marco none the less.  Or maybe it was the fact that he knew Jean this good by now, that disturbed him. The fact that Jean probably knew these things about him too.

“Jean, wakey wakey”  Jean was not a morning person, this was something you didn’t have to be told twice because Jean would be incredibly obvious about it.  

“Fuck off” He grunted and pulled the sheet of what once was bertholds bed over his head.  Yeah, they had switched rooms in the progress. Only for a while now but it was more convenient for both parties.  The only hard thing about it was the fact that he had to get Jean’s ass to wake up. He wondered how Reiner did it, or had done.. Then again the case was quickly solved;  Reiner would have probably punched him in the face or farted while sitting on his head. Reiner wasn’t like him in the slightest. Apart from that Reiner hadn’t developed the slightest weakness for Jean’s morning frown like Marco had. Reiner wasn’t contended only because of jean, who took his attention off the sucky relationship he was in. That was Marco and so he wanted to spoil Jean somehow, show that he was thankful.

Not waking him up wasn’t the way though  

“oy you and your birdnest need to get out bed~”  

Yeah but Jean rolled around and ignored him. Groaning.  “Oh hey, noah says he’s in front of school.. Says he wants me to skip today and go with him.. I don’t know, I guess I’ll go, I’ll be late because of you anyway, I’ll be leaving the-”  a hand slipped out of the sheets and took his arm as if a ghost shot out of a cave to commit great evil. His plan had worked perfectly.  

“Don’t you dare twinkletoes”  

“I still don’t think that nickname fits, I’m manlier than you are”

Jean sat up straight and grunted. To prove his manliness? Because it was morning? It stayed a mystery.  “You’re not even dressed”  he noted, off topic but improving none the less.

“Yeah, I lied but you really need to get up” And Jean did, like he had done all week. They brushed their teeth after getting dressed. The rhythm was; Shower, sleep, clothes, brushing teeth, food.   It was better for both of them, mainly because showering in the morning would mean Jean having to wake up even earlier than he already did.

 

The day didn’t seem to last long. They went apart and then came back together without even noticing how weird the idea would have been a while before.

To be that open with one another.

In the breaks they sat next to each other and talked to whoever had the best topic at the moment, though most of the time that was the other one. Marco always seemed to think Jean had the most interesting topic. Not really because he was into anything jean did, it was just because he wanted to hear what Jean said. To make up for his mistakes. To understand what Jean was saying when others didn’t so he could nod and agree later in the evening when Jean would whine about everyone and everything.

Somewhere- even though Jean had his unreasonable times- Jean had enough reasons to whine. People didn’t understand and know him well enough. They saw his grumpy and closed personality as the average jerk additude, even though when you started talking to him he was rather open. People saw the amount of times Jean cursed and whined about Noah as either him looking for a fight or jealousy, marco saw it as mere protection. He didn’t need any but he was flattered .. glad he had made a friend too.

* * *

 

“Do you feel more comfortable now?” The way Jean rubbed his neck and looked away made Marco wonder if the question wasn’t meant for the French himself “You know.. with your sexuality in the group, are you not afraid anymore?”

He had probably spoken with berthold about it too. It wasn’t weird that they thought he had been uncomfortable with it. He kind of had been.   “I’ve never really been ashamed with the fact.. it’s just that I can’t say the words. I seem to choke on them. I choke in the fact have that sexuality. I feel like choking when someone makes a joke about it, or when they curs with it. Even when they kindly ask it or when they are having a pride parade.. it makes me feel sick, my mind goes blank and I feel like I need to swallow but I just can’t”

“Do you still have it?”

Marco had to think about it for a while. His hand softly traveling over his face. A gesture that said I was afraid of my own ignorance. A gesture saying I did realize I had too much ignorance. I didn’t know. “I think I do.. In a serious conversation the word gay.. the word gay is just a stamp on myself and it will stay on me forever.”

“Like a tattoo”

“Like a tattoo” marco agreed.

“Some people really like tattoo’s though, it makes some people more attractive, and actually I think you wear this one pretty nicely, so just show it off alright?”  

“Thanks”

“Don’t get gay on me because I said it makes people attractive, it was a total non homo statement. Like not non homo but from my side like.. non.. non sexual statement”

“I get it Jean” He laughed softly, honestly. Evenings with Jean were the best. They turned from jokingly friendly into serious and sentimental. Jean asked how Marco felt even though he always looked like he didn't want to.  

They laid down on Marco’s bed, like they often did, and kept quiet for a while. It was way too intense. Way too much for such a new relationship with someone.  His mother would have smiled and spouted a lot of nonsense about them releasing positive and creative energy when together. He could already hear the words in his mind.

“Do you want to come meet my mum sometime?”

“And leave my family be in the weekend?” Jean’s mouth curled up a little, his head turning to look at marco “I’d like that, I guess” there was it, the unfamous no homo ‘I guess, man, or something and everything close to those. He didn’t mind. It was Jean talking.

“She’ll try to dance with you, she’ll play piano with random lyrics about you, she’ll ask if you’re my boyfriend thousand times”  

Jean grinned, he didn’t seem to necessarily dislike the idea “I’ll survive, anyway doesn’t she know you’re with The asshole?”  Marco couldn’t bother to comment on Noah’s new nickname, it would make them fight, it would call the same discussion they had been having for a week now.

He sat up “Mum doesn’t like Noah”

“Oh really? Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because she’s open, and an artist, but you’re no better Jean, you also have stern homophobic parents and you wouldn’t come out if you were to be gay”  Calm but piercing words. Marco felt guilty right after. He never talked like that, not even with Noah.

“Who says I wouldn’t? And who says my parents are homophobic?”  

“It’s written all over you.. it’s fine but-”

“I don’t give a fuck about my parents, actually, I would fucking walk away and tell them to suck my dick”

Marco gave a half hearted chuckle “but you wouldn’t take me to your house right.. because they’d get the wrong idea”

“More to spare you all the fucked up comments, marco”  Marco felt a warm feeling go through him. Because Jean’s words seemed so honest. He was speaking the truth and nothing but the truth.  “I’m not ashamed of you, even if you suck dick, you’re a better friend than all the friends I’ve had in a while”  

Now he could barely hold his grin back. There was not even a no homo. Just a blush and pure friendly embarrassment  “Yeah,  you’re that to me too”

 

* * *

The next day when Jean left just before Noah came, Marco had begged him to to start another fight and the only solution was getting him to stay at Berthold and Reiner’s place.  The room change had been nothing but good to him before but he hadn’t really thought about how Jean would feel getting send out of his own room. He understood, but with a lot of cursing and threats to kill noah. Luckily Marco wasn’t new to this, even though they had only been together for a little less than a week.  

Marco had lied about his room change. Marco had also lied about who his roommate was. He felt guilty but he was sick of fighting.  Noah had kissed him and he was a goner again. Noah was in perfect shape. Perfect face and perfect everything.

In his head Jean walked through that door and he felt guilt going through him.  

Noah pulled out his shirt and pressed his lips to his and Marco wondered how long it would take, he wished it was over quick for the first time since they had met, because if it would tak longer Jean would be too aware of what was going on in his room. Jean would feel pain if it took too long.

He would rather upset Noah than Jean again, he realized.  

“I love you, marco”  Noah had whispered in his ear when he was getting comfortable.  

“yeah, Love you too”  Noah sat up, half naked in the bed he had sat on with jean a while ago.

Slowly and hasistant he took out a package. A present, marco realized “to make up for last time” noah whispered. Though Marco knew that Noah had more money than love. He knew it was nothing to noah, that he would try to use money and puppy eyes to get away with everything.  

Marco opened it. A box. He opened the box.  A necklace. A black one, beautiful and expensive looking.  Nicely styled, manly for a necklace “I didn’t know what to get, because of the fact you’re the only man I’ve been with.. you know.”

“It’s perfect, you didn’t have to”

Noah shrugged “would have given it to a girl, I guess I should give it to you too”

“Thank you”  

Noah kissed him.  Taking the necklace from his hand and pushing him over.  Noah undressed him, thinking that ‘marco’s roommate’ was out until midnight.   Noah made love to him. Way too long. Painful because it had been too long. Painful because Marco felt guilty. Marco felt out of place and dirty.

Noah kept quiet when having sex, he always did. They both did. The only thing that would come out of their mouth was a sigh or moan. They never whispered sweet words. Marco wondered if Noah imagined he was having sex with a girl when they did it. Or if he’d tell himself he had after they had done it.  He wondered if Noah felt dirty and out of place, like he did.  

 

“Took your sweet time I’m tired as fuck” Jean walked into the room, Marco sat on his bed, his head against the wall and his eyes closed. A headache. He had gotten out of hand again. He had made love to Noah until it was way too late and Jean was pissed off, he had to be.  “Smells like sex in here”

Marco kept quiet. He kept his eyes closed  “You look upset.. did he do anything to you?”  

“No.. nothing out of place”  marco finally opened his eyes.  

Jean snorted “You look depressed”

“Some things just give me a headache okay,  it’s not easy on my body all the time”  The sex. They both knew he meant the sex.

Jean stood in front of him, obviously not wanting to sit on a bed he had had sex on with Noah “He gave you that necklace?”    Marco nodded and touched the necklace; it felt weird  “Looks expensive.. he’s one rich motherfucker isn’t he?”

Marco shrugged “so are you, aren’t you?”  

“Might be but I’m not going to buy you jewelry, it’s a little bit gay”

Marco chuckled  “Sorry to break it to you but I am a little bit gay”

“Just a little?” Jean snorted “And here I thought you danced”

“Asshole”  Marco stood up so that he was slightly towering over Jean.

Jean took marco’s hand and grinned brightly, took his hand and noted that marco needed to turn “Come on dance with me then”  

He then took both hands.

A horrible classical dance position.  Marco had a hard time trying not to laugh when Jean started moving their arms up and down while walking in a terrible pase.  Humming a song that made no sense.  He was moody, he wasn’t going to laugh because of this guy. Still it was funny.

Jean had the worst rhythm, he noted.

Somewhere he gave up.He laughed and let his forehead fall onto Jean’s shoulder. Laughing into the other’s shirt while mumbling things like ‘good thing you don’t dance’ and ‘that’s the worst humming ever’. Jean didn’t seem offended in the least, he grinned brightly and kept leading Marco in a dance.  

“You are jealous of my skills aren’t you bodt?”

“Very much”  One last turn under Jean’s arm.  “Glad you’re my dance partner, sir Kirschstein”

  


* * *

 

“Gross!”  

That was the first thing Eren said when their group of friends walked up to them. Both of their smiles turning into confusment.  

“Eren be nice..” this was mikasa.

“But Jean looks so gross when he’s happy”

“Hey leave my brothers boyfriend alone!” Ymir  “Like, you don’t mess with the freckle lovers”  she kissed christa’s head.  

“Ymir, I don’t think they are-”

As Jean was too shocked to even scream about how not gay he was Marco spoke up  “Guys I have a boyfriend, besides Jean is very much not gay.. right Jean?”

“Yeah”   Marco sat down and smiled at Jean again, who seemed to have a harder time on smiling than before but still it was there.  

“Yeah right” Eren mumbled sarcastic  “You couldn’t date Freckled Jesus anyway, horseface because you’re not good enough for him!”

“Oh fuck off Eren”  Jean threw an arm around marco  “It’s bromance! Bro- Mance on it’s highest level!”   

Suddenly Sasha started laughing way too loud, marco was starting to get confused by the group again “Hardest bromance my ass, connie and I win that title!”

“But you guys have hooked up haven’t you?”

“Oh fuck off we were drunk, it’s bromance, bro mance”  she repeated Jean’s words.. well almost.

“but you two are a boy and a girl, it doesn’t count”

“You two are gay it also doesn’t count” Connie stated, protecting his ‘bro?’.  

“I am not gay”  Jean grunted for the up- thousandth time.  Marco laughed and bumped his arm into jean’s playfully, whispering “leave them be, jean”

 


	10. Chapter 10

“what happened to your father?”

He knew that this seemed like a pretty inconsiderate thing to just ask but the way they were talking and the mood just fitted. Marco didn’t seem to mind either, he was still smiling. They were so comfortable that they could talk about anything.  

There was a nice jazz beat playing in the background. Maybe it was because marco had put on the most ‘hiphop’ thing in his list but Jean was really starting to take liking to marco’s music. Marco would laugh at him if he ever told him since apparently he was ‘obviously stuck in an eager eminem fase.’  alright, maybe he was, eminem made just made lot of things better. He wouldn’t even need a no homo to devote his life to eminem; all the the boys that had this internal war going on because people were assholes did. It made them meaner, yes, it also made them.. grumpier and stronger.  

“my father huh.. Let’s just say he was never there”

Jean frowned “The ‘he’s an asshole’ kind or the ‘god took his soul let him rest in peace ntb, love forever’ kind?”

“You are really insensible you know that?”   Jean nodded quite proudly  “Neither one, He’s alive I guess, but I don’t think he left me because he didn’t want me.. I guess he just didn’t know. My mother wanted a baby, my mother gets what she wants, that’s why..”

“That’s rough buddy, and I can imagine your mum doesn’t want to tell who he is- bla bla bla “

Marco smiled and bumped his shoulder into jean’s. He was quite touchy  “Actually no.. My mum said I could ask anything I want about him.. I just.. I didn’t want to” Jean shrugged and nodded. He couldn’t understand why Marco wouldn’t want to know. The man might just be a millionaire, he could rip some money of the guy!  “My mother says that a family isn’t about having a mother a father and children. My mother says a family is about the amount of love you can give. Even if you are not related, even if someone if missing or when-”  he stopped in his tracts and bit his lip “Nevermind”  

“When it’s a same sex family”  

He blushed “I hate you” His hands in front of his eyes made him look cute. Jean couldn’t place how someone could be so obsessed over coming out and his own rights yet be so embarrassed at words.  “but yeah.. a family is about love, not about a house bells and bliss”

The words made Jean feel terrible. All his life Jean had lived a life like that. A mother, a father, a house, a dog, lots of money..   Marco didn’t know but his words absolutely threw his life in the trash. If it was true that a family was all about love and not about being perfect like he’s been told then yeah;   he didn’t have a family,  and the gay kid and his single mum had a better family than he did.  

“She must find the fact you’re gay cool too then”

Marco smiled “she would.. I’ve never said it straight to her face though”

Straight to her face.. ghe. “I didn’t come out either, it’s bulshit to do so”

At that moment it seemed as if his whole life rushed through his mind. He stared into the nothing and his everlasting smile seemed to fall.  

Tears in his eyes.

Fuck.

Jean tried to think of whatever he had done wrong before marco broke out in tears.  Maybe it had sounded harsh.. because of the family thing? Maybe-

“You really think it’s not important?”  His voice was rilling. Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuuukckk.

“Of course I don’t.. like.. uh..  it’s just a sexuality, and my sexuality is too, and like-”   Jean was topped by two arms wrapping around him and holding him tightly. His face was pushed into the more masculine shoulder of his friend. Marco smelled like the coffee they had drunk before. It was nice. His heart was beating too hard; because he had been so worried before, perhaps?  

For a while they were quiet. Jean tried to casually stroke marco’s back and hold his head closer. The casualness failed; there was too much emotion in it. Too much care. Jean didn’t care. He really didn’t.. usually.. this was an exception.

Jean wondered, at that exact moment - that if a family was about loving and caring-  maybe marco was starting to become more of a family than his own. Marco would accept him. Marco would care. Maybe Marco acted like that always and to anyone, but for him it was a pretty fucking big deal.

“You just took everything I’m always worried about, and threw it in the trash, saying it was nothing”   

Was that a good thing?  “I’m sorry?”   

Marco pulled back, giggling yet sniffeling, and looked into his eyes directly. He could swear he felt his heart sink at that exact moment  “Why?  I should be thanking you Jean.. you’re the first to ever tell me that”   Even noah hadn’t. Noah, the biggest asshole alive. Somehow Jean’s jealousy came back at this moment. Maybe because once again he realized that Marco deserved much better. Better than noah…  better than him.

“oh.. it’s nothing, just the truth”

Marco laughed a little, as if he was thinking of something to say and found it too funny  to mention. He didn’t;  He did  “You have got to be the only person that understands me as much as my mother, jean”

A warm rush went through him. It was getting too intense. It was absolutely lovely but it was too intense. His own sensitiveness was driving him crazy.   “oh wow, and you didn’t even come out of my vagina!”

Marco laughed “Is there something you need to tell me jean?” marco jokingly raised an eyebrow.

“Jup, I have a vagina, sorry”

Marco frowned  “Sorry Jean but then I can’t be with you anymore, this love was fun while it lasted but I’m not into the whole hetero stuff”

“but then? you don’t have vagina?! Shit I thought we were having a lesbian relationship!”

Jean accepted at that moment that marco had become the most important person in his life, marco had easily and kindly worked his way to the top.

Jean wouldn’t tell him that though. Because marco had people he loved more. Marco had a boyfriend, marco had a mother that loved in more than the entire world. Marco had his smile.. a smile with which he could win everyone over.

There was no way marco wanted to be his best friend.

* * *

 

The moment Jean saw a car drive up to them was the same moment Jean thought about dying and changing his whole him. How the fuck was he going to let his women- marco’s mother-  like him?  He couldn’t!  Easy but painful solution.

Grown ups didn’ t like him, period.

‘stop frowning boy’  

‘why is your hair like that, did you dye it?’

‘don’t curse!’

Nope. Grown ups really didn’t like him much. On top of that he was pretty boring, rather mean and absolutely nervous.  “Jean..”    Jean nodded, staring at the car “Your frown”  Marco pointed at his frown yet this only made him furrow more.  “You’re hopeless”  Marco reached out and kindly carassed the space between his eyebrows.  “Better”  

Really?  Did something that stupid help?   “Was that necessary?”

“Yes now you only need to get rid of the blush?”

Fuck.  

Marco was walking towards the car already and what freaking blush? Was he really? Well it wasn’t weird, marco had just caressed his non existent monobrow!

Marco’s mother stepped out of the car and it amazed him how damn charming the women looked in real life. Her black hair was thick and real unlike that of his mother. She had wrinkles but only those that seemed to be there because she had laughed too much. And the freckled. God damnit the freckles made her young, again, unlike his mother. She didn’t seem stuck up or insanely creative, just natural. A long red skirt slightly covered her heels, her white shirt was wide so it comprehended her tight skirt. She was young yet looked responsible.. Marco looked like his mother, he realized  “Jean isn’t it?”  

That smile.. jup they definitely were two from the same feather “Yes! mrs bodt, nice to meet you” marco kindly smiled. To make me less nervous?

“Call me anja, please”  The normal first conversation. Nothing special. Still it seemed more important now; this wasn’t for his parents social status;  this wasn’t for his father’s business. It was for himself, and for marco.  “Alright let’s go sweethearts”

A random fact about Anja:   She talks a lot and half of it makes no or little sence.

“You see babe, I was raised by peggy lee”

“Mum you were young in the abba fase”

“True but I was a cool kid that listened to old music.  Now if a girl listens to peggy lee, or diana crall or whoever she finds out that she deserves to order around the best and richest of men.”

“Mum”

Anja chuckled “Marco listens to that music too so you better watch out”

“Mum please”

“Just kidding, I’m kidding baby”

When they came to marco’s place the storage of soda had become even smaller. ‘coffee, tea, water and lots of wine is the way to live’  or something like that was what Anja said.  Then again she did ask if they wanted to go buy something nice for themselves. Turned out the women wasn’t short on money in any way. They had a big house- not as big as the one his stuck up rich kid family owned but still, for a single mum house it was pretty damn big. She only had biological stuff and like he had noted before they had technology they never apeared to use. A television while they only read books, phones and Iphones with which they mainly texted each other and microwave they didn’t use because it’s better to just cook, stuff like that. The only thing that was used 24/7 was their Ipod with an unnatural amount of jazz, soul and blues on it.

Jean made his first mistake when noticing all the stuff they never used; He asked what they did do in their spare time. Big mistake. Never ask an artist such an ignorant thing because god artist will make you feel useless and talentless in one freaking instant. Specially if the artist is constantly positive and absolutely cute… nice..  I mean kind, just very kind.

“Come on then, I’ll show you”

And so marco dragged him into a room at the back of the house. First thing he was was the enormous amount of light that came into the room because of the one wall made of glass. Second this were the walls that were particularly made out of books. So many damn books. Fuck, Jean had red like.. 6 books in his whole life.  

Then there was a old looking brown piano, a violin and speakers. Lots of notebooks. Lots of painting and paint. Yeah.. mainly paintings and paint. Everywhere. There was even paint of the piano and on the notebooks.

There stood a big work. Gorgeous. One that absolutely made your heart melt. Warm colored and calm.  “Mum doesn’t really like the work but it’s for a normal family, pay good money for something that isn’t extreme”

“Oh really?”  He liked it though. Was he normal?  Yeah.. probably.  “I like it”

“I would if I had never seen her other works”   

Humming came out of the other room. Anja lit up the house. Marco lit up the house. They lit up his heart.  Jean wished he had grown up in a warm family like theirs. He wished he could maybe marry a women that was artistic like that. God if he could find a women artistic and warm like them he wouldn’t mind having a boring job to financially support them.   “Do you paint too?”

Marco blushed fiercly, suddenly, they both choked up because of it  “I.. I- no”  

“ ‘no’  or ‘I would rather not show you’ ?”

Marco bit his lip  “I used to but.. it’s not my god given talent”

He laughed “Finally something you can’t do! I was starting to think you really were jesus, god that’s a relievement”  

Marco chuckled and put some music on.  “Watch your mouth, might just end up in hell for saying for saying Jesus was gay”

“He looks like quite the sentimental man to me”  

The freckled laughed shyly. Beautifully, jean thought.

 

Second mistake was made during dinner.

Probably the least awkward dinner he had ever had. Even the dinners he ate alone were awkward. Okay Okay, the dinners he ate with marco were less awkward, you‘re right.  Still it was amazingly comfortable at marco’s home.  Better than the dinners at his home. Better than any dinner, even if his father got home. He felt like a happy family. Like the kid he was when he didn’t know all that was wrong with his family yet.

“If I do any arts?..  well I like drawing but my parents wouldn’t let me take lessons”  That was my second mistake. It wasn’t a bad one though, even if marco looked betrayed, surprised but happy at the same time.

“Really?  Would you like me to teach you some time? Of course, only if you have the time and.. if you want to”

And maybe jean did. Maybe he just really wanted to learn how to draw. He had been afraid of asking his parents. Afraid they’d judge them for it.  

His mother did have this weird fucking hate for artists. Still she felt the need to buy the most expensive paintings and every single cd of every single damn french classic artist. She’s was the kind of person that says their vegetarian and eat kfc every single say. She was the personification of the word hypocritical and Jean just wanted to rub it into her face.

“You would?”  and somewhere he knew he was being stupid.

¨ Of course I would! I would love to learn you anything I know, I’m glad Marco made a good friend”   And then again he really didn’t care. He loved this family.

“Well he’s got noah”

Marco’s mother fell into silence  “I guess he does, but that doesn’t mean you-”

“Actually I fought with him one time, or like.. two times by now, sorry for that”

Marco’s mother -somehow smiling even brighter now- leaned in “Really now? How did that start?”

Marco shot Jean a look saying ‘I will kill you if you don’t stop right now’   “Nothing important really”

Luckily Anja was (and probably always would be) the best person to understanding marco without using words.  She smiled and nodded calmly. Of course she too knew that the fight was about Marco. Of course she too could see that Jean was a cocky spoiled asshole like Noah was. The whole thing wasn’t hard to figure out. It really wasn’t. On top of that Anja was a smart women, she knew it all; the fact her son was gay; the fact noah was his boyfriend and not his friend;  the fact Jean was a jealous asshole and every other unspoken thing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Useless and short chapter, I hope you still like it though! (: 
> 
> Oh and please comment to tell me what you think, advise is appreciated ^^


	11. grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is black and white and these dorks are artistic messes

And somewhere. Somewhere along the road to an everlasting friendship with Jean.. he stopped being in love with Noah.  

He still wanted to be with Noah because the safety and guilt and everything that summed up to him being who he was and acting the way he did. Mainly fear and the indifference of it all. He already was with Noah, no use in turning it back.  To top it off, he did really care for the boy. And the other deserved the world too. They were working on Noah together, so that the boy could become the man he was deep inside. They were tearing down this wall together, brick by brick, and it was too much for Noah to do on his own. He might have stopped being in love with Noah, but he didn’t stop loving him, and he was still aware of the fact he needed to finish what he had dragged Noah into.

“If you don’t stop stabbing your butter knife into a dictionary and writing down horrid poems I’m going to stab that knife into your writing hand”

“It’s called poetry”

“It’s called;  a boy that doesn’t know what to do with his feelings and so he starts doing useless things instead of putting them in a line”   He had to admit the boy knew him pretty well. Had he once told Jean he did that when he felt emptiness?  “Why pick random words if every damn poem comes down to your self infliction”

“Jean.. I just-”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jean sat down next to him as close as was humanly possible. He heated up. A wave went through him and automatically he became afraid of touching Jean. Something he hadn’t been afraid of before.

How could he possibly talk about it if Jean was his problem?  Love turning into caring was not much of a problem but friendship turning into love at the same time was. Specially if the other knows nothing about the whole thing.  

Guilt. Once again guilt was his main problem.

“Not really”  

“Alright..”  Jean carefully held his head and laid it on his shoulder. A comfortable position, if you take away all the fear that came with it.

He closed his eyes, calming himself, trying to take away the fear.

Funny thing is:  it helped. He was able to calm himself because; who cares what they were? He wasn’t doing anything wrong towards Noah and Jean didn’t seem to mind anything of it. Why did it have to be so black and white? In love or not in love, friends of not.. so maybe he did feel more for Jean than what was appropriate for someone with a boyfriend,  if he didn’t let it bother him, he might just.. enjoy it.  

“Don’t you ever feel like just.. putting a gun into your mouth and letting it blow up your brain and every single thought in it?”

“Since high school.. all the damn time”

“Still?”

“Mainly”

Marco awkwardly looked at his hands “Feelings you can’t cope with?”

“Yes”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really”

 

That evening, Jean did something he had expected no one to do for him.  Mainly because it’s the 21th century and good music seems to have disappeared from planet earth to evolve somewhere it is appreciated by higher educated aliens or something  but  also because boys had this thing for treating him like shit. Also because as he felt like one of those aliens and no boy he had hung out with (which includes noah only, actually) liked good music. Jean probably didn’t either but he.. he respected it and he cared enough. Which - to him- was pretty damn amazing.

“So I have no fucking idea who these guys are but it was facebook event and a lot of people were badshit excited and fucking dancing suits in pictures and the name included jazz so.. I just kinda bought tickets”

“Sounds perfect”

Jean smiled at him, kindly and skyly “I was hoping it could get your mind off that thing you were worried about”  Well no matter how sweet it was it was most likely going to make ‘that thing’ worse. Because Without his knowing, Jean was ‘that thing’. Well.. Jean and Noah combined kind of were ‘that thing’. The ‘fucking familiar and painful perfection’ versus the ‘friendly kind of laugh all day and I really kind of want to put my tongue in your mouth’ kind of thing.  

Yeah, it really was going to make it worse.

He didn’t really mind though. He decided to just enjoy it and all the effort Jean had put into it.

“Okay so this thing starts in the evening but since we have have all day- not really because school is apparently here to fuck us over-   but let’s just say we have all day, then maybe we should go for some coffee, and then we go to the jazz and soul thing”

“Love that”

“My car”  the french mumbled quickly after “Your music”  

“Promise you’ll sing with ben l’oncle soul?”

Jean rolled his eyes “How many times do I have to say that I’m not going to freaking sing in french?”

* * *

 

“Okay so I was sitting in my room and my mother literally asked me ‘do you have any straight friends Jean?’  and I told her ‘nope’  because I’m not really sure, like I think connie sasha mikasa and eren are straight like.. but I don’t know. I don’t care either,  I really like to piss my mother off”

“That’s really weird Jean, but.. I can understand”

Jean snorted heavily “Fuck, What would you say?”

“I don’t know, I’d probably have a mental breakdown”  

Jean looked up and nodded understandingly, realizing that was probably the more logical option.  That was where their coffee came in. He had a caramel macchiato and Jean had something that looked as black as his bags in morning and his roots after a day or two.   

“To top it off-” he snapped his attention back to the loud man in front of him “she wants me to hook up with every single girl. Like uh, mum, none of your fucking business. Like.. I crushed mikasa for a year or so but that’s it. Like do I look like I want to end up with a girl, mum?”

“Then what?”

“What?”

“If it’s not a girl?”  Stupid thing to ask, but Jean had said a stupid thing too.

A pale hand went through blond hair “I mean a girl like that..”  He nodded, he hadn’t expected anything else yet he had hoped for it.   It was stupid really  “Not that- that I’m not open for what might happen like.. uh, no homo but maybe a little bit hetero flexible? I don’t know”

He laughed silently “Jean, It doesn’t have to be so black and white. It’s humans nature to name everything but do you ever think about how easy life would be without doing so?”

Of course Jean hadn’t thought about it. No one thought the way he did. No one Thought that was even normal. They weren’t raised like he was; by a open and charmingly artistic mother. They didn’t understand why he held back yet found his way with words, they didn’t understand why he thought and read, why he liked guys and befriended everyone.

He didn’t really either.

That evening they stood in a crowd, mainly people older than they were, but all very chill. There were some people their age and they made a small talk with them. A boy and a girl;  the boy had taken the girl to the jazz performance because she had fallen in love with jazz yet not out of love with him. He had accepted being the second love and took her to the jazz concert. They laughed as Jean threw his arm over his shoulder and proudly said “ ‘bout the same thing here, he scolded me ‘bout my music taste for a few weeks and now look at me”    

The girl- a sweet looking afro lady-  had giggled and asked kindly “so are you two friends or-”  

“No, No.. we are friends, like, I have a boyfriend and he-”

“Oh! I’m sorry for asking then, you two just kind of fit or something”  Leave it to gorgeous black ladies to show no shame whatsoever.

Jean had perked up there and then “that’s necessary for every kind of relationship, aint it?”  

They didn’t really get any time to discuss it because the band started playing and my- were they awesome.  It wasn’t a new discovery that he smiled every time a sax started playing but right now the feeling slid through his whole body. The grin came automatically and he closed his eyes as he danced.  

The whole evening he danced. The whole evening Jean watched him with a calm smile on his face. It made him warm inside and a little bit nervous too. The way Jean awkwardly moved and let his hand travel through his blond locks every time he smiled at him.

Everyone danced. Lots of wine was thrown in throats but  the only beer to be seen were those in Jean’s and the black lady’s boyfriend’s hand.  It was ironic yet it fitted so well; the way Jean bumped his beer bottle with his red wine as he tried to hum along with the music.

When Jean drove me home we put a cd full of Ray Charles, buddy guy and music of that kind,  to which he actually sang the right lyrics for once. When he looked at jean then he didn’t necessarily see someone he was sexualy attracted to till no extend. He did kind of felt like kissing him somewhere; as the devil inside him was starting to get more out the happier he became. But what he did see was his happiness. Jean’s face- grumpy or happy- automatically linked to his happiness. With serenity and peace.

“So what do you get for the tickets?  Oh and you also paid the coffee didn’t you?”

“Nothing?”

“Just tell me what it costed, it’ll be fine”

Jean laughed silenently  “No, if I tell you you won’t let me pay”

“So it was expensive? You dipshit. Just tell me-”   Jean turned up the radio and sang the lyrics half heartidly (as he probably didn’t know the lyrics)  “Hey Jean! I swear-”  He started dancing with the car too (which means that he continually moved the steering wheel)  to which he yelled and laughed. “Jean don’t! You’ll get us killed”

Eventually Jean calmed down, though he noticed they weren’t heading back to their dorm. They were driving towards one of the  bridges that connected the two parts of their city. “Jean?”

“I want to show you my favorite spot”

He didn’t know what it was so he just listened and went with it. When he stopped thinking black and white he also stopped caring about exactly what and when.  

Jean stopped the car. The sun had gone under yet the sky was lit up by thousands of lights. Not the stars. The city lights. The smell of fresh air was lovely after being in a club and right after in a car.

Without him really noticing Jean had seated himself under a street light and he had taken out two papers. “Jean? Seriously-”

“I’m writing down the things I want to lose”  he - against his will- glanced over to Jean’s paper and was once again reminded that his best friends handwriting was terrible and aggressive; unreadable.  Jean smirked while he held out his notebook “I won’t look, like you just did”  

He blushed furiously red and quickly ripped the notebook and a pen out of the others hand.  “I didn’t mean to”

“I don’t mind, I knew you wouldn’t be able to read it”

“So it’s something I’m not allowed read?” He sternly looked up, hoping his eyes would burn into Jean’s like Jean’s usually burned into his. Nervousness at the power the other held. Fear for how close they had become.

Jean swallowed “Well yeah..  it’s-”

“Fine.. It’s fine, I don’t mind, I have the same thing here”

And so he sat down and started writing as Jean looked away. Things he wanted to lose. Feelings he wanted to lose. He didn’t even think before he started writing. Because he trusted Jean’s guidance. Because no one would ever know. Maybe even because he had finally accepted himself a little.

 

My fear for being who I am.

Noah’s judgement.

Other’s glances.

The position as Noah’s dirty secret.

Noah’s constant pain and mine costed by him.

Sleepless nights.

My guilt towards Jean.. or noah.. or both probably.

The feeling of being a traitor for falling for him.

 

He folded the paper and held it to his chest. Jean smiled at him, carefully and lovely.  “Let’s go for a walk alright?”  He nodded and followed Jean. Their shoulders bumping constantly. The wind was blowing them away. If they had had longer hair they would have eaten the other’s.  It was nice. They couldn’t hear anything. The wind cut coldly. Glances were sweetly shot at the other from time to time.  “I didn’t really plan this.. I just.. well the weather was perfect”

“I loved today Jean.. thanks to you”

“It’s nothing”    They stepped onto the big bridge. Cars flying past them in high speed. The wind almost blowing them away and Jean even holding back half of the wind for him. As the walked on the right side.

Jean was looking at him. Not just simply looking at him from time to time with his usual dorky cocky smirk but like, looking at him the whole time. Intensely and way too long. At first he tried not to mind it by looking away but now he was just looking back. He wanted to walk closer, hold Jean so he knew he wouldn’t be blown away by the wind; never found again. He wanted to but he couldn’t. He had Noah. Jean would take it too.. gayly. Or maybe not even ‘too’ he just would. It would be true but it would be what parted them. He didn’t want to risk that. He didn’t want to be a traitor and a cheater and he didn’t want to lose Noah after all they went through together. Noah didn’t deserve it. Noah didn’t deserve the life he had been given.. yet he had to go and fall for someone else.

Jean stopped walking. They were standing at the middle of the bridge. “What now!?”  he yelled over the great noise of cars and wind.  

“You throw it off the bridge!” Jean shouted back.

“It’ll fly away!” He was still holding the paper close to his chest. As if he was afraid of losing those words. Maybe he was; Noah’s name was on there so often.. Jean’s name was on there. He was afraid of losing them.

That only explained why he had written those things down though.

“Wait!”  Jean walked towards the rail and hung over it. I in a second, he let go of his paper and it flew away, then where they almost couldn’t see it it landed into the water.  Proudly he looked at him. “I lost them”

His heart skipped a beat, there was no denying it anymore; Jean was unpredictably wonderful.

He stepped front. Hung his arms over the rail. The paper tightly held between his hands. The wind almost blew it away yet he was still trying to hold on.

The freaking point was that he let go of it, damnit! Why couldn’t he?!

“You’re not letting go” Jean quaked behind him.

“yes I am, just give me a second”

He needed more than a second. He stood like that for what seemed like forever. Jean stayed silent. Though after a while- a pretty long while-  he let his pale hand rest on his back. That’s when he let go. That’s when he dropped the damned paper. When Jean had touched him. He couldn’t hold all those things with Jean by his side.

He looked at the paper fly. Land into the water. Blown away to never be found again. Then he glanced at Jean hopefully (why hopefully?)  and smiled a little. His hair in the wind and his mind empty.  Jean walked up to him with a smile just as genuine and sad.  

Silently Jean came closer. For emotional support in an unusually emotional situation? Jean let his head fall onto his forehead. He breathed slowly and heavily, he could feel that, as there was no way he could hear it.  He was looking worried and in pain. Which was logical; he felt like looking the same actually.

His heart felt like leaping out of his chest. He swallowed loudly, wondering if Jean knew how careless he was being? Why did Jean act like this with a gay boy like him.. it’s should be awkward, covered up with thousands of ‘no homo’s’  but it wasn’t. Jean didn’ t seem to mind. Jean seemed to.. Jean seemed to come even closer. Though that wasn’t the case, probably. He was being pretentious. No. That couldn’t be, since their noses touched and he was still leaning in. He wasn’t pretentious. He felt Jean! That was real. There was no way that wasn’t real; Jean was leaning in right?.

Confirmed.

Jean’s lips touched his.

He pushed his onto them.

It was the ‘okay’ button he had pushed without wanting to. Because Jean’s hands flew into his hair and he pushed their lips apart. Letting him paste the insides of his mouth. Letting him lose his all; mainly his pride. Jean stroked his cheek and his neck and his ears and he pushed kisses onto and into his mouth. Wind, hair and savilla mixing together.   

It lasted too long. Longer than he had wanted it to last as soon as he stopped.

He pulled back, quickly. So quickly that Jean was still leaning in and lost balance.

“Jean, I can’t do this.. Noah”

Jean cleared his throat. “Erm, Yes.. I know.. it just.. it just seemed so right, I handled without thinking, sorry”

Without thinking? Had he not thought about it? Did he handle on manly instict? Was it like that? Because if it was like that Jean didn’t like him like he liked Jean. And hell; did he like Jean. And my; His kisses were better and more emotional than Noah’s. It was terrible to admit.   “But this is not a joke Jean, it’s my sexuality, not some playing around”

“No! No, that’s not it but I just shouldn’t have.. You’ve got Noah, I pushed you into this situation and didn’t leave you any choice as I know you are way too nice..”

That’s what he was worried about? That he didn’t want him equally as much? That he acted because he didn’t want to hurt Jean’s feelings? That that was the only reason for the kiss? That was just being stupid. Only Jean could think like that after knowing him so well. It was best for Jean to still think that way though.. until he knew how he felt about Noah. Until he sorted himself out. Until Jean knew what he wanted without joking around. As Jean - like he said-  acted without thinking, he acted without being black and white, he acted because he felt like it, maybe out of love but without thinking of all the things that would come with it. He had that already. He’d rather be grey than have a new case of stuck.  “Marco..”

“Yes, I’m.. I’m fine, do you want to go back?”

“Are you sure you are alright?”

He smiled “Yes Jean, like I said before, we shouldn’t name everything, make everything bad or good, an act that can only be done when in love, black and white.. so, it’s fine, you handled because we are humans with feelings and that feeling doesn’t have to be love, I understand”

He named it though. He was in love with Jean. He knew it. He’d deny it but he knew it.

“Maybe I do love you, I don’t know, I don’t understand myself really and I don’t know if I do, I ve just been thinking about it.. Is that bad?”  Wind blew through Jean’s hair and a tear rolled over his cheek; it was costed by the wind, he wasn’t crying.

“That’s not bad Jean, sort yourself out.. just know that.. know that I have Noah”

Who was Noah though? Jean had almost kissed and blew that name out of his mouth and he was still denying it. He was still afraid of letting Noah go.  So he kept quiet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Hate this chapter but I also like it like?????


	12. (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean goes on a trip of self discovery and the two are being 'unnamed and none black and white'

“So what’s with you and Marco man?”

He glared up “None of your fucking business Eren”

“No really, you two are acting nice but just so fucking awkward and nervous, it’s almost painful to watch”

“He’s mad at me, probably”  He stated casually; luckily as casual as he planned on sounding because just because he actually bonded with someone for once didn’t mean he had to go around being an emotional little bitch.

“You punched his boyfriend again or what?” His boyfriend.

His fucking boyfriend.

If someone said those words again he was going to fuck himself with a fucking cactus. “No, no I didn’t. It’s nothing, Eren, just-”

“It’s not nothing and you don’t have any other fucking friends so just tell me”

“I don’t have- oh my god I fucking hate you”  Eren rolled his eyes and silently waited for him to start talking about what was of any importance “Alright- well - I just.. I kind of did punch his boyfriend but just not.. literally”  Did that make any sense? Probably not, he had a hard time talking logically recently.  

“Oh my god, you-”

“Yes”

Eren smirked brightly “You frickled the boodty”

“No!” He swallowed heavily “I just kissed him.”   

He had expected Eren to burst into a laughing fit or call him stupid names.  Eren didn’t,  he just nodded interested and seemed to be thinking about what to do about it all. The way a normal friend would; they weren’t ‘normal’ but still.  “You in love with’m?”

“No” He thought about it “Well, yeah maybe, I don’t know really. I didn’t think about it before kissing him. It was instinctive and in the moment”

“How to fuck up your first good friendship; a novel by Jean Kirschstein”

“Oh fuck off, he doesn’t even care that much and he kissed back in the heat of the moment too but that’s the problem;  he’s so  casual and I’m fucking confused”   
“Gay shock” Eren stated as if it was the normalest thing in the world.

He frowned worriedly “Never thought such a thing would happen”

“Ain’t even denying it anymore”

“Well it’s not a gay shock. Marco calls it ‘not being black and white’ which is the poetic way of saying you’ll do whatever you feel like without thinking of steriotypes”

“Which means…?”

Jean watched people walk making sure he didn’t see anyone he knew carefully. “I have no idea really, but if it allows us to be closer I’m planning on all the colours we know”  

Eren smirked “gay”

“why don’t you just fuck off”

“No I mean it, I think you should begay him. You are terrible but from what I’ve heard his boyfriend is far worse. Beat his boyfriend up very.. not literally”

“You think?”

Eren nodded “Yeah let your aggressive rainbow fly”

“Oh my God fuck you Jeager, I swear!” He hit Eren against his shoulder; pushing him off the table they had been sitting on. Eren laugh; they were both just glad the tension was gone and the do was done.

The bell rung second after. Hist heart was a lot lighter yet he didn’t know if he’d be more or less nervous about facing his newly found freckled dream. Within no time it had all gotten so damn official.  Was he going to be friendly and casual, closer or would they end up being awkward once again?

“Hey” he heard behind him. He looked a little too fast, smiled a little too bright and then breathed out the same greeting a little too kind.  Eren saw and smirked at them; he almost regretted even telling  the asshole all he had.  

“How was class?”

“Boring, I’m jealous you and Eren finished before us.”

Jean smiled “Sorry, I ain’t very good at philosophy”

“Hn, not as a subject in class” He swallowed obviously “Also, my mother asked me to come over for dinner, with Noah” he thought Anja didn’t like Noah? That she liked him better.. she might’ve been doing it for Marco only. To make him feel accepted and all.

“and?”  Thank all the gods for making his voice seem steady!

“I don’t really feel like it.. That’s pretty terrible of me isn’ it?”

Jean felt his heart hop as he shook his head. If anyone wanted and prefered it that way it would be him.  “You really think I’d think it’s terrible that I get to spend all weekend with you?”

“I don’t know..”

Jean grinned and patted the spot next to him for Marco to sit “F’course I don’t”

They sat next to each other in silence for a while, watching how everyone was busy with everything while they-  or he, at least- were busy with them and their feelings; kind and warm. He lusted after Marco’s body. Not that he necessarily wanted to kiss the other; like he had insanely felt before. He did feel the need to sit closer to the other, take his tanned hand softly and feel his breath in his ear or something like that. Stroke and smile, love and for the first time make my life worthwhile.

Not secual.

Not black and white.

“It’s crazy I have so many friends now.. I forget the way it was and why I ended up here quite often” Marco mumbled sweetly as he watched connie steal poor Armin’s food for his tirant other half.  Eren yelled at him for it and Mikasa calmed him; giving Armin half of her lunch as Sasha thanked them.

“I do too, you see, before I wasn’t part of the group as much” Marco looked at him in surprise “You see.. when you think of Sasha someone else comes to your mind right?”

“Connie” Marco responded without a hint of hesitation.

“And then there’s Mikasa, Eren and ..-”  

Marco let himself fall against him and answered into his shoulder “Armin”  he too knew where this was going.  

“Then there’s Berthold, Reiner and Annie, kind of, and Christa and Ymir.”  He focussed on Marco’s head on his shoulder, he felt a smile through his shirt. A soft breathing.  “So Marco.. who was there for me?”

“So we’re the famous fifth; Jean and Marco”

He laughed softly and Marco followed; turning his head but still leaning on his shoulder “Call it : ‘frown and flowers’”

“Coffee and tea”

“Math and philosophy”

They sat beside eavch other, smiling.

They could almost still taste the other in their own mouth. That was fine though. He was happy and a whole lot less worried as soon as Marco was next to him. He finally understood that it only mattered what their box or name was when Marco wasn’t next to him.

They were acting too close, too gay, like he seriously needed eight thousands of ‘no homo’s’ to cover this shit up if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He didn’t feel like covering it up and he didn’t give a fuck about who saw of what kind of box or name it was going to have.

This was what Marco meant.

No one seemed to be bothered by it either. They had gone through it probably. Hell, their relationships were all fucked up and scarily close. Everyone was loving each other and fucking each other and everyone had no sexuality or one that was too complicated for anyone to understand. He didn’t understand how the him before meeting marco had even gotten here.  

* * *

 

After school moments were his favourite. Marco and he’d get some coffee and they’d go for a walk or a lazy nap in the park. Good weather made everything look nicer now that he actually went outside because of his best friend. The sun shined on the others tanned face and freckles; Marco looked so at place outside while he looked a little bit awkward and ill. This doesn’t make it a surprise that he took allergy medicine every single day now that spring was coming; hay fever’s a bitch.  It was worth it still; them laughing about useless things, him drinking some kind of dark coffee or sometimes cappuccino; marco drinking wiener melange or some kind of tropical tea he had unsurprisingly never heard of before.

Marco had been laying on a field next to him when he turned his head to whisper “Do you want to know the story of why I left school?”

“The math isn’t very hard to do; you don’t have to if it bothers you, I know already.”

“I want you to know all I know.. because when I we know as much we might think more alike and we’ll know what the other feels when stuff happens”  He didn’t know what that was supposed to mean but he let it be.

“Alright, tell me then, just.. don’t let it bother you”

Marco nodded and started telling the whole story in full detail. He seemed quite comfortable, he didn’t seem to show any hate towards the people he talked about “So I went with him to the boys lockerroom to get his book. Everyone was still there; but it didn’t surprise me much. Though as soon as the door closed everyone started yelling and calling homophobic slurs. Noah who was in the room too- as he is a footballer and all- seemed even more shocked than me-” As marco went on- telling him it wasn’t Noah’s fault; giving Noah credit on handling the way he did- his hate for Noah grew. He also kind of learned to sympathise with him; who the fuck wanted friends like that though? They were the absolute and complete opposite of his friends, even if Noah and he came out of the same kind of environment.  “Coming to school became unbearable after that so I kind of.. came here”

“Noah should have protected you” was the only thing he got out of his mouth.

“No, he did what he could and it was the logical choice”

“Shut up Marco. You don’t just deserve ‘logical’ and ‘safe’ you deserve someone taking some fucking punches for your sake. You know I would do it for you and hell, you’d do it for him too and yet he gets the right to be-” He stopped right there as he was afraid he was sounding too jealous.   
Marco didn’t say anything for quite a while. As if he was thinking about the words he had barked out. Maybe it had upsetted him or maybe he was thinking about how these things were fucking facts.

“I’ve been thinking about breaking up with him” That statement made him look up fast as light. His heart beating loudly and fear of the look he was most likely showing.

“You have?” God he sounded fucking desperate. It was only logical. He had always kept the words ‘Noah is the most important thing to Marco’ in his mind. When laughing, when talking, fuck even when he kissed him he had believed in those words heavily; some voice was always screaming it in the back of his mind.  Turned out that marco took much more salt with his own relationship; it was fucking great.

“We haven’t made a lot of progress lately. There’s still ‘I love you’s’ and apologies but I don’t think he’s going to accept himself more than he has done. It’s as if anything happened; he’s getting more and more ashamed.” Marco swallowed and looked at the sky “Like.. I have no idea where he lives or the fact we haven’t gone on a date since the time you had to come get me”

He smiled genuinely at that memory “Almost forgot that happened, going to have to thank Noah for being an asshole at that time”

“I thought you wanted to kick his ass” Marco chuckled, seeming relieved the tension had become lighter.  

“That too.. just.. everything that’s best for you”

Even though he wasn’t looking he could feel Marco’s eyes burning into him “Even if that means I stick with Noah? Because you’re really giving mixed signals over here”

He thought about it. The friend side didn’t mind an awful lot, still the side that held these newly developed feelings for Marco was screaming ‘no!’ oh so loudly. It almost hurted his head.  They were His freckles, his soft warm honey chocolate voice, his sweet chuckled, his freckled muscled back; not noah’s.

Funny thing was though: it was the other way around.

He didn’t answer Marco’s quiestion. A little because he didn’t know the answer but also because he’d been lost in thoughts for around 5 minutes and answering would come out really weird and awkward. Marco didn’t look all too hot and bothered about the whole thing either. As if the question had been rhetorical. Like he had never been expected him to even freaking answer.

So he kept silent and brushed his hand against Marco’s, new hope was heating his body up so he could do what he hadn’t hoped to do before. Well; except from the time he had kissed him; something certainly heated up his body that time too.

When he looked at Marco the other seemed to be lost in thoughts too; maybe it really was the best thing for both of them to keep quiet. They both had a lot to think about. Each other, mainly. Which means; he was thinking about Marco and he let himself hope Marco was thinking about him too.  He hoped he had replaced the thoughts of Noah by kissing him, or touching him from time to time. He hoped Marco noticed that this was silence and happiness and Noah didn’t have it. It was a little unlike him; to give and want such a thing. But man was he willing to change his non romantic pessimistic mind for this ‘not black and white, Never named’ thing they had going.

Jazz music started playing loudly.

Both almost got an heart attack and looked at each other in shock. Right before both reconizing the sound; Marco’s ringtone.

Devastation washed over him; the moment had been so fucking good.  Marco felt this too; as he didn’t take the phone, he only looked at the caller and then back at Jean.

“Take it, Marco”

“But you-  

He grunted “Jesus Marco, just take it”

And he did. Nervous and blushing about all he had said before. As if realization only hit now someone was calling. “Hey Noah”

Someone might aswell have stabbed him multiple times while making him watch a recording of the night he had kissed. He felt a lot and it fucking hurt  Guilt even. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to punch the other; he felt guilty.  “Oh really? Wait a second”  Marco said while standing up to start pacing around a tree. Marco being a walking caller suddenly became suspicious, even though he had always done so.

And then Marco smiled and laughed genuinely. He seemed pretty fucking happy about whatever Noah had to say.

He finally realized what kind of rollercoaster of feeling Marco was in because of this damn relationship. It just switched and kept switching so that he was never able to do what was best for him; make a fucking choice.

He tore his eyes away, jealousy’s ugly. Before he hadn’t even been sure he liked Marco that way. Then again Marco had never said that jealousy couldn’t be apart of their whole ’unnamedness’.

Marco walked back. Happy and a little bit awkward. He knew right there and then that Marco was going to go back on his earlier statement.  “So what did Mr weakest little bitch want” He asked casually; credit on him because he felt like pulling out his own guts with a fishing needle and then hammering them until flat.

“well erm..” A blush spread over his face “He wants me to meet his parents”

His eyes must’ve widened “He’s coming out?!”

“well no, but it’s a big step forward”

“Still sticking for that excuse hm?”

Marco frowned at him “Stop Jean, you have no reason to belittle me or treat him like shit”

“I just want you to be able to fucking hold hands and meet someone’s friends for once!” He was yelling. He hadn’t planned on doing that and he really fucking hoped he hadn’t hurt Marco by doing so.

He had; the face Marco showed shot through his chest “It’s just not the way it works Jean.. not with boys”

“I’d do it; I see you deserve it and so does everyone else. If I were..-” Gay? His lover?  WHat was it that he wanted to say?

Marco sat down again, seeming a little bit calmer than before.  “This will be his last chance alright? I’ll believe in him once more”  no.

No.

Why did he have to believe in stupid fucking things? That fucking artistic dualistic fucking fuck damn bastard. Why did he have to do stupid fucking stuff. Why couldn’t he just believe in the two of them?

“You really love him don’t you?” The fuck did he ask that for? To get stabbed through his chest with words?

“Yeah.. love is so easy to built up with memories”

He heard his insides shatter. “ Wouldn’t it be great to feel it in the present too though?”

Marco swallowed painfully, nodded silently and then let himself fall onto Jean’s lap. It was truly and honestly the worst answer he could have given; it gave him some fucking hope. Even if it was just hope for being the second.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop, hope you liked that, It's only half of this chapter though. I just really need to make my math homework if I ever want to get into fucking writing school DD:


	13. (2/2)

Jean looked at him sternly. His hazel eyes burned, and he swallowed heavily. Jean was upset; he got that much. He couldn’t even deny it; the last days he had watched Jean’s straight ass grow feelings for him. He knew the signs, as he had shown them too. The looks, the smiled, the endless deep and shaky conversations. He knew them and he shouldn’t have shown them. He shouldn’t have felt them. Because he hadn’t given Jean the most important thing; security. He had agreed to go see Noah. Why had he? What did he expected out of meeting Noah’s parents?

Maybe it was the fact he wanted to please the him from a month or so ago. Maybe he was just stuck, stuck because he wasn’t satisfied, because he hadn’t finished what he started. And he wanted to, hell he wanted it so bad. For Noah, for himself, for the sake of love and promises. Just to see what he could get out of Noah.

The problem is; he didn’t do it for love.

No he held no love for Noah anymore, surprisingly enough.

He had, which he only realised now- thrown his love for Noah off a bridge before getting love for another man stomped into him; it was laying on the top of a tongue.

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Yes, Jean, I’m ready, now please calm down”

“I’m calm”

“Jean”  he looked in the other’s eyes sternly. It made him happy really, just sitting with Jean like this. It was enough to calm him. Jean took the stressing over so that he didn’t have to do it anymore.

“Alright, list; you call me, you kick ass and you don’t drive when you are crying”

“I don’t own a car, Jean”

“So?”

He rolled his eyes and fixed his blouse “Why can’t you be positive? I’m not going to cry, I’m not even going to tell his parents I’m gay”

“Why don’t you? You don’t even have to take Noah down with you, just.. tell ‘em you’re gay. See how Noah reacts, see how bad their reaction is, be yourself for once”

“No”

“Why the fuck not?”

He closed his eyes and breathed in “You don’t know me Jean, you don’t know how hard it has been to not bring others down with me because, I, just am the kind of being that you shouldn’t hang out with. So no, no I’m not just going to risk going back on all I promised for fun”

“Who is others?  Is it your friends, your mother, me? These others are no one but Noah, don’t you see he’s the problem?”

Of course he did. Of course he saw that Noah was the problem. No one else cared about him being gay. And he was thankful for that. He was so damn grateful everyone still loved him but he just wanted.. he wanted to keep one more person up straight. For one evening be his love. Maybe it would be lovely, maybe he’d fall in love with him. Maybe breaking up was too risky; letting everything he built break down was the worst if he later on realized he wanted Noah, or that Jean never wanted him anyway.

The light of his phone flashed on, getting both him and Jean out of this crazy trance they’d been in waiting for his answer.  “Noah’s here”

“Marco just..”   He looked at Jean, maybe angry; he didn’t really know, but it seemed so make Jean nervous as hell “ just think about what I said.. and think about me please”

Like he ever didn’t do that. The whole thing he wanted to do was to forget Jean. Yet he knew he’d take Jean’s words to heart.  “I will.. erm, just go kick some ass in that stupid zombie game so you don’t sit around waiting for me”  

“When you come back I’ll teach you how to kill ‘em”

“Only if I can teach you how to dance”  He joked.

“Go teach your boy that” Jean was joking too, but he saw it breaking his heart. It was stupid how Jean kept saying things to hurt himself. It was obvious too, not that the other was trying to hide it.. no.. Jean wasn’t trying to hide the love, he had just taken his words to heart, and now his own words made him feel like a player.

“If he doesn’t learn fast enough-”   He stopped talking, no idea why he was breaking it all ever farther. He wasn’t going to come home. He wasn’t going to hold Jean. He was going to fall for Noah like he had done all the times before, and he was already regretting it. He regretted it all the times before, but Noah’s face was the only thing that had him weak, moist and painful. Jean made him strong, but that kept him from that melancholic love.

“Good, because it’s well known I’m a faster learner than Mister Closetstuck”  

That was it. Marco chuckled and smiled, before turning to the door and walking out. How was he going to answer to such a thing? He knew darn well what Jean meant by it. Jean could be smooth when he wanted to, he’d give him that one.  

He saw Noah’s bnw standing before the school. Sunglasses on and his monotone face on. Once again; a reminder at how good looking Noah really is.  “Took you long enough”

“Was saying bye to my roommate”

“You’re getting along? You changed rooms after I asked you to didn’t you?”  Not quite for that reason and it didn’t quite get better.

“Getting along just fine”

Noah nodded and turned on his ipod, some song he had never heard in his whole life filling the car. Jean listened to HipHop and was now suddenly fine and almost in love with Funk and Soul. He never listened to anything but blues, jazz and burlesque. Together they had become death to pop music. Going to an average teenage party was the worst idea they had had together; didn’t know any of the songs.  

Noah didn’t seem to notice his awkward mood as he hummed along with the slow rapping.  Then turned it into talking “My mum’s making spagetti, also don’t get touchy, I know it’s your nature to do that even when not being romantic”

His brain cracked at the switch in that sentence “Alright”

“Babe”  He nodded “In a while we’ll go to your place again”  

For once. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to have sex with Noah, it made him feel a little bit disgusting. He didn’t want Noah laying anywhere near Jean’s stuff, funny thing though; his bed was surrounded by Jean’s messy ass stuff.  “I’m glad”

They drove in silence. Noah smiled at him from to time but apart from that he guessed the whole pretend to be straight thing had already started.  When they stopped he was faced with one of the biggest houses he’d seen in a while. To which Jean would have replied with;  ‘just because you haven’t seen my house yet’.  He wouldn’t doubt the whole thing for a second.

“Come on”   Noah let him open the door himself and he didn’t take his hand as they started walking towards the house. His heart beating in his troath. He reminded himself of the fact there was a big chance Noah’s parents really were the sweetest people; not a lot of people were really mean or wrong, they just had other idea’s.

 

They were greeted by Noah’s mum standing in the kitchen. She took his hand softly and shook it with lack of interest “Marco bodt, nice to meet you”  he said awkwardly, right before looking around for Noah’s father; he wasn’t there yet.

Noah dragged him to his room. His room was normal. White, a big tv hanging on the wall, a playstation that would’ve pissed Jean off- he owned a xbox- and then there was a big bed.   Noah started listing all the things he couldn’t do when they were having dinner;  being too close to him; talking about art; talk about his mother or his believes; talk about his change of school. With that listed up he lost every single thing he could talk about and he decided to keep quiet the whole time magnificently fast.  

His mother called them down.  

Noah looked at him. He was afraid and it pained him, yet he couldn’t feel the same. He didn’t feel like hiding himself really, he was rather pissed off and he knew Jean had rubbed it off on him.  “I love you”  Noah whispered, really soft.

“Yeah, me to”  He replied. He didn’t?  He really didn’t anymore? Those words meant little or nothing. It felt weird and new but the only feeling he had was guilt. Nothing but guilt.

 

 

“So son, are you in Noah’s school?”

“No mam’ never been, we met at a party”  He shoved some spagetti in his mouth as he felt the eyes of both Noah’s parents on him. Swallowing heavily. The mood was so much tighter than it was at his home, yet they were nice to him; he had no right to complain about anything but the fact Noah made him lie.

“Oh really?  What school are you in?”

“Trost”  she nodded interested “Majoring english”  The truth for once, just leaving the fact he was minoring Philosophy.

“How wonderful, you like reading?”   He nodded silently.

Finally Noah’s father spoke up “Ain’t never seen the point in reading so many books, boys have too much energy to get rid of”

He nodded again, silently eating. Noah’s mother rolled her eyes sassily. She seemed there for the money and the good name. It sounds harsh but it did really look that way.

His mother was gorgous; like Noah himself. Her skin was perfect and nicely tanned. Her hair blond and her eyes a light shade of blue, her teeth fake and her smile probably too.   

“You have a girlfriend?”

“No I haven’t got one”  He felt his gut turn as Noah looked down at his plate. Noah had to deal with this bullshit every day and he was now putting up with it too. He didn’t speak up. He wanted to, he really wanted to run home and tell Jean he was right. Tell the whole world about his sexuality. Actually, he just really wanted to be himself, but this was a truly terrible moment to realize that.  “I’m not really interested in girls right now”

He almost felt Noah’s wave of ‘pissed off’ from next to him.  “School and such?”

“Busy with school” Noah’s father laughed “Boy you need to go out and live or else you’ll end up a queer”

He swallowed and looked down. Thinking about himself. Then thinking about Noah. Right after, thinking about his love. That made two against one.  These other’s are no one but Noah.   

“David please, don’t joke about such a thing to the boy”

He interrupted them “No, no really, it’s fine,  I am gay so it’s the truth”   

Such a small, and short way to break down everything one built.

Guess what?

The world didn’t stop spinning.  

He didn’t stop breathing.

Noah did. His parents stopped eating. All eyes on him.

It secretly felt really good. Powerful. Strong. Like he was himself.

“Excuse me? You’re joking right?”

“No miss”

“Noah?” she panicked. Which made my heart speed up, she had been quite nice to me.

Noah panicked. He swallowed heavily.  “I didn’t know”  he eventually said.

His father stood up, pushed his plate away from him and mumbled “I’m suddenly not hungry anymore” before walking away.  Noah’s eyes wide. Noah was rilling.

Regret.

Yeah that was the right word. He regretted saying the things he said. He regretted doing Noah like that. The boy had pushed him into a lot of crap but he didn’t deserve it. Noah just wasn’t ready. No one should push you onto something if you aren’t ready.

“Marco”  he mumbled, watching his mother follow his father “I think you should leave”

“yeah.. yeah I’ll leave” a thick mood, tears in his eyes “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have”

“Too late”  Noah mumbled still not looking at him. Noah walked in front of him, to the door. Silence was the heaviest thing at that moment. Noah’s lost look was. Noah’s future conversation was.  “Why would you though?”

“The words I was never able to spit out were choking me, I would’ve suffocated”

“Stop your poetic bullshit! It ain’t nothing poetic Marco, it’s ruining someone’s life!” he looked behind him, afraid his parents had heard him. He realized that that was the worst thing to see; Noah still hiding.  “That ain’t the reason Marco”

“I just can’t do this”

“Good”  A lie. Noah was lying and his voice was rilling. He didn’t want to let go; that made all of it a whole lot harder.  His love for Noah had fallen off a bridge, it was gone.  

“I’m leaving Noah, and I’m never turning my back on the person I can be again”

“Do your fucking thing, Marco, it ain’t my life”

He closed his eyes “It could’ve been”

“Stop. Stop and leave”

“Alright”  He didn’t look up. He took out his phone and ignored Noah’s desperate eyes. He started walking a little. To avoid them. To make sure Noah didn’t hear him.  He heard a voice on the other side, one that calmed him and all he had.  “Marco are you alright?”

This was the moment he broke into tears. Costing Noah to widen his eyes, still watching him.  “No” he answered, in tears, barely hearable.

“ I’m on my way”  His love, his best friend, his grey whispered on the other side.

He smiled himself into tears “Thank you, Jean”

When the phone stopped, he also heard a door close. Slammed close as hard as was humanly possible. Angry and afraid of the future.

 

He hadn’t had the right to ruin a life. He had had so many moments to break it off, to become himself, yet he had to and take this one.

He sat down at the end of Noah’s street, on the ground.  He remembered doing this one time before. Noah leaving him.. Jean coming to get him.

Looking up at the sky he realized; this time it would probably really start raining. He hoped it would. Let his melancholic guilt fly. No one would see he was crying. No one would mind him as everyone would sit in the warmth.

Jean would warm him, inside and out.

He smiled as the first drop fell on his forehead. Then soon, more and more. He closed his eyes. He’d be washed away by the rain soon enough.

“Marco”  

Jean.  The idiot jumped out of his car and pulled him close. Warmth. “You were right” he whispered softly.

“It doesn’t matter.. you did well”

“No” He pulled Jean closed. Smelled his sucky axe smell and his muff hair. “What I did was wrong”

Jean pulled back. their foreheads touching. Stern eyes made his stomach turn “If you can’t be yourself he doesn’t love you, he loves the idea of you.. You have people to love you so-”

“I know.. I’m sorry” he cried over the rain.

That was it. Jean pulled him inside the car and let a miles davis record play. He cried. Jean let him, watching the road.  It was perfect. It hurt so damn bad but it was perfect. Oh how his heart bled with every tune. How Jean understood it did. How beautiful he saw the rain fall through his tears. How he missed Noah and wanted Jean.

“It’s my fault really”

“Maybe it is” Something he didn’t expect but it was true. Jean was completely at fault. He had loved him, and shown him acceptance, he had won the love of his mother and he had kissed him deeply. Jean was, without a doubt, at fault.

Jean stopped the car.  Took out an umbrella and then opened the door for him. Silently putting an arm around and kissing his shoulder. He didn’t really know what Jean was thinking.. he didn’t really care either.

Their room. Jean put a towel on his head and dried him softly “I can move on my own you know” he mumbled “My heart isn’t in my limbs”  

“I’m not saying you can’t.. I’m not trying to help your limbs either”  He let it at that and let Jean dry his face. The way the other shyly looked away from time to time. He knew too that Jean had been waiting for it to turn out like this. He had probably sat waiting in his car for him to call, driven way too fast to pick him up.  Jean swallowed  “Marco..  can I kiss you?”  

“No.. not right now”

Jean looked at him. A little bit lost “Oh.. then-”

“Will you come with me? I’ve always wanted to do this thing..”

Jean nodded, no idea what was going to come over him, they walked through the hallways, holding hands, or more like, he was pulling Jean through the hall. All the way down to the dance studio.  “We’re going to dance?”

“I’m going to dance..  You’re going to love me”

“Don’t we always do that?”  Jean closed the door.  “Mood dance? What song?”

He just smiled, his red and teary face hurting a little. Then he put on ‘non, je ne regrette rien’ by Edith pafh. He stretched his arms, felt power fill his weak and rilling body. His now dry clothes just comfortable enough to dance in. Jean’s face light and smiling, he was singing along slightly.

He let his head slide over his own body, his legs moving in small pointy steps. One step, two step, half turn, reach out, pull back, crossed legs, reach out, a hand touching his. A hand touching his?  

“Jean?”

“est-il pas d'accord? Car ma vie, car mes joies. Aujourd'hui, ça commence avec toi”

“I might not speak french Jean, but I know what the lyrics mean”

“Then am I seeing this the right way?”  

He smiled and looked down. Starting to take steps again. Leading Jean a little; though Jean mainly stood still. He turned and Jean held his close his nose in his neck, breathing heavily. Not because of the movements, because of his nerves. The music stopped. Jean looked up. The song started over again.  “so erm-” Jean awkwardly let go of him.

“Go ahead Jean”

“what?”

“You may, go ahead” he looked away slightly “do what you want, push your lips into mine, dance-”  

Jean took his chin and within seconds pushed their lips together. He deepened the kiss disturbingly fast and pulled him closer than what seemed possible.    
The kiss was short though. Jean apparently felt more need to whisper his name into his neck over and over again. Kiss his jawline softly. Soft french words he could understand a little bit blown into his ears.   Because.. who was Jean to keep the jazz man from french? And who was he to keep the lover from love?

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day after the break up. Marco learns french too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing rather short chapters recently, I'm sorry for that!

"No, you frecklebutt, you don't say the es, and it's a soft z, because it's written as an s"  Marco had insisted on lying in bed with him all day, skipping the first hour with Marco was worth every punishment anyone could come up with so he agreed without a hint hesitation. They had been laying in his bed for a little over an hour. He held his perfect freckled in his arms as tight as he could, his heart beat getting faster but his love's eyes getting softer.

He was whipped, he couldn't even deny it. At first his chances had been slim. He had been a hungry dog but right now, he was sitting in front a big steak and someone - which refers to something inside of him and his dignity-  was telling him not to take it. Shit, he was learning the boy French, and if he wasn't planning on doing something it would have been be that. It suddenly seemed lovely though, Marco was honestly terrible at it but he kept on trying.

Marco's french turned into a model for his love life; which kind of means he wasn't planning on giving up and that he certainly was planning on loving the little things he achieved.  "Vous êtes d'où?" 

"Very nice, Je suis de Amérique"  

Marco snuggled his head into his chest. Lighting the fear of his heartbeat being heard, yet he didn't bother to change any of it.  "Imagine your mother wouldn't have moved, and we wouldn't have met"

"Oy, no cursing in my damn house young man"  He felt a chuckle in his neck as he spoke the words in his most American country accent.  When the other looked at him with a smile he still saw the thickness of his eyes. Marco had given him a shitload of 'it's the guilt',  'it's the memories' and 'It's fine' but he didn't buy such shit. Marco was feeling bad and it didn't matter why; he had to hold him until it had healed, and it appeared to work.

The whole night they had talked. Marco had let him in on some secrets he hadn't heard before. Marco had only told his mother, he said, his voice cracked a little as he had been crying all day "Jean, I really want to go to PCA when we finish school"   No one else would have known what it meant but he sure as hell did, it was the school of art in Paris.  With hope in his voice he had asked "the summer program?"   but he knew better. And Marco's answer - a shake of the head- didn't surprise him in the least.

So that's kind of how he ended up learning Marco basic french. Of course he knew that PCA's point was having English and American students but as Marco wanted it so bad and not speaking the language in a country is a real disadvantage he ended up doing so anyway.  He just wanted Marco to smile again. He pulled it off greatly.

Marco finally stretched and became his old responsible self when it was around midday "c'mon, we need to get up, before I get you send out of school"

Jean pulled him back and snuggled him tightly  "Qu'est-ce que je ferais sans toi?"   _what would I do without you?_

 _Marco laughed, having no idea what he was talking about and all_ "Tu parles anglais?" _Do you speak English?_

He laughed, he sure as hell was going to regret learning Marco french if the habit of talking about his feelings in French was going to get worse. Then again, he really hoped that by the time Marco had managed to fully learn french he would've managed to fully steal Marco's heart. Which meant stealing the last bit of love for Noah away and throwing it in the damn trash. Which meant making sweet love and talking about his feelings whenever he felt the damn need to, in English, in French, fuck he'd do it in Dutch if he'd been able to speak that.

"I'm regretting even learning you this shit"

"You should tutor, you're great" Marco mumbled while pulling putting on a jeans and not bothering to pull out jean''s most comfortable 'I'm tired, sad or grumpy' hoody because the damn freckled 'lacks nice hoodies and he wouldn't buy one with him. ' Guess not shopping with Marco - his last hidden 'no homo' - would stop existing soon too.

 

 

Class, how they got there was a mystery to him too, as well as not getting yelled at. He was laying on Marco's shoulder while Marco got all the notes from the last lessons together. Like that they were teaching each other. This was mainly his excuse to be lazy and to keep teaching Marco french bullshit.  "Where were you two this morning?" Reiner asked.

He grunted as a reply but Marco's honeyed voice filled him soon enough "Jean was teaching me how to speak french"

"Yeah I sometimes speak French between Bert's legs too, most of the time it stays at 'je ador the baquette' though"  

Once again Marco spoke up after he had grunted aggressively, as if he was translating "That's the worst French ever, also we don't want to know"

"Wait you mean he was seriously teaching you french? I thought that you two were- wait, ohh.. wait, no nevermind, you've still got that whole 'true to your boyfriend' thing going on"  

He felt Marco swallowing. Within seconds he had turned around with an insanely haughty look on his face "Will you just cut the crap? We were relaxing, ain't nothing wrong with that shit"  

"Well, Marco does look a bit tired, I guess that's for the best" But both of them knew what was really wrong. Reiner wasn't really as dumb as he looked, even if his French was the worst.  He noticed the lost and devastated look on Marco's face. Fuck, the whole class probably felt their hearts break together with Marco's. He surely did.

When class was over, and Marco was talking to Berthold kindly and calmly, Reiner walked up to him with a hideous grin. Which meant little good. "So Marco broke up with his boyfriend?"

He nodded casually. Avoiding Reiner's glance at all cost. Reiner didn't need two looks to know he had a crush on Marco, or even that they had kissed a few times now. So his conclusion was to just not let Reiner get more than one look at him. Then again, his eyes were focussing on Marco, and that wasn't the smartest thing to do either. "Have you made your move yet?"

"What? No"  Not that he was a closet case.. he was nothing like that. He was nothing like Noah. There was just no reason to go spouting shit Marco was most likely ashamed of. Would suck big time to come out as this 'I don't know, I do like Marco, who is a boy, but fuck thinking about sexualities takes too much time'  thing if Marco wasn't going with him. If Marco denied him, or if Marco wouldn't want to push it further, it would just be embarrassing.   

"Jean, seriously.. No one else expects shit but-"

"He doesn't like me" He explained. That was all. It was the easiest way to get Reiner of Marco's back. He didn't care if the fact he liked Marco came out.   
"Oh yeah, I also always break up with my boyfriend for someone I absolutely do not like" Reiner sarcastically sang with his sassiest damn face on.

"Well if your boyfriend's an asshole you would"

"Marco didn't see his boyfriend was an asshole before, he was blinded by love and only honest love could take his blindfold off"

"Why aren't you majoring poetry?"

Reiner hit his head  "Just fucking go for it you dick, he might be a little bit out of your league but you'll manage"

He glared at him, then he looked at Marco's back, Marco walked charmingly. Like an artist; his back a whole lot straighter than his sexuality and he swung. His hips and his shoulders. His warm laugh. They danced and sung.  "Actually-¨   he waited for Reiner to look at him- expect and feel "I have kissed him a few times"

Shout out to him for being a complete dick who put his ego first; very nicely represented the word asshole.  "You did huh? Why doesn't that surprise me?¨

"Because I'm an asshole who always wants what I can't have¨  

Reiner laughed "lately? I have lost sight of that asshole" he frowned "Not of you though, noo, you've been pushing your loving face up my fucking sight every single day"

He bit his lip awkwardly, not knowing how to react to all Reiner was saying, yet worried about what other thought of it "that's-"  Leave it to Marco to turn around and smile at him right that second. Shutting him up and making his heart sink. He awkwarly smiled back, his cheer probably flushed; any argument he had thought of had just been wasted.

"Remember that Steel Panther song?"  (*) 

"It won't suck itself"

"No Jea-"

"Pretty baby suck my balls all night?"

"That's not even the title damnit and I'm talking about pussy whipped" He chuckled.  "And you, my friend, are pussy whipped, but then for a dick, like erm a butt, no wait Marco's a top" Reiner rambled on while he heard the song play in his mind. He was almost used to Reiner's embarrassing way of thinking again.  He eventually just brushed the whole conversation off with an "maybe I am"  and then sprinted to switch places with bert.

Marco apeared to feel more at ease right away, his friendly smile dropped into a lovingly sad one.  He came closed and hung onto his arm. Both breathing softly. "What did Reiner want?¨  Marco asked hushed and husky.   
"He wanted to know if you broke up with your boyfriend"

"Ah" Marco smiled "and?"

"He knows, says it's my fault"

"well it is ain't it?"

He smiled "I sure hope so"

Marco locked their hands "Well Jean, have you ever tried making something white when other colors keep falling in?"  He wasn't sure what Marco was refering to but guessed that what he had with Noah was supposed to become or be white. And that he was color.  "You can't make nice white like that, even if color is beautiful.. you need to stop wanting to make white, or you need to stop the color from dripping"

"and you stopped trying to make white"

Marco smiled at him and nodded. Still it was a little too unclear to him. Marco was always going on about poetic shit but never had he admitted liking or loving him. Though the same probably counted for him, he had never really said anything direct or clear about it either. They were both equally as artistically vague.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****Here are the steel panter songs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l0t7PtZ3X0A 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LKS3kx-Lcl4 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xndmje3y9T8 
> 
> (I don't listen to rock, this is my best friends fav band haha) ****


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family Kirschtein get guests and Jean gets a broken nose.

At this point this might come off as a surprise but the thing is; he didn't hate his parent. Sure he didn't enjoy being with them or living anywhere near them. No, he didn't agree to their ideals and way of living.  This all didn't mean they weren't his parents, that somewhere hidden under their homophobic, workaholic egoism, they loved him. In their own ways, of course. Nothing like the way Anja raised and accepted. Still it was love.

"Jean, it's a special occasion, the whole family together, old friends there"

"I kind of had plans to go to a documentary movie in the theater"

"A documentary movie? You? How's that?"

"About a photographer Marco loves, says it'll be great"

"Ahh, your new roommate, how lovely"  Translation to straight forward asshole language: You're not in one room with that homosexual anymore, how lovely.

Jokes on her.

"Sweety, I'd love it if you'd be there, You're my only son and even you leave me all alone. It's good you're living but I thought you'd be the last to let this old woman fall-"

"Fine, mum, I'll go"

She chucked satisfied "Yes! Thank you baby, they have a child your age, it'll be fun"

"Because I love befriending people so much"

She scolded him on being an asshole and being so antisocial he could never get a proper job (to which she was referring to the family company) . I agreed with her to make it easier. Actually, I agreed to the next eight things as if I was listening and when she was finally through her sweet lonely woman talk she hung up.

Marco, who was learning for his philosophy test, sat at our small desk, calm blazo playing. Some songs he recognized as the 'colours of jazz' album. Marco looked peaceful. Beautiful.  Marco was the kind of person you could only compare to beautiful landscapes, calm jazz and the best paintings. You couldn't just explain his being with words, or by telling them 'he looks a little bit like this and that person.'  There was just no way, as Marco was the breathtaking and life changing feeling of serenity. Which is something, you can't describe.

"Don't you think that us westerners, lie in an Utopia?"  Marco asked when his concentration gave up on him "We're a lot like Bacon's new atlantis, which had a strong focus on technology and being able to easily get the things we need through it.. It's weird because he wrote this thing in the dark age, which you notice because of the christian influences, but still, it's a fantasy to what we have these days.. He wanted this. Makes me realize how lucky I am"

"babes I don't even know what an utopia is"

"Perfect society or such"

He smiled and sat down next to his perfectness "Well, you're luck and perfectness is about to run out"  Marco raised an eyebrow "Gonna eat with my parents, mum used the guilt trip attack"

"Well I'm just glad you survived her very effective attack"

"my ego shielded me a little" Marco laughed sweetly while he reached out to take his hand, whispering "I'm sorry"

Marco kissed his hand softly, or more like; pushed his lips on it and kept them there, making the words "we can go any other day" seem mumbled and soft.

 

Maybe it were Marco's words that kept him up standing long enough to even head to his parents place. Loving is great, even if it's acalmly because the other's not ready, or because shitty pieces stuck in someone. It suddenly has you doing shit, and being creepily nice to a lot of people that deserve to get a knife shoved up their arse. With which he did not mean his mother.

Even though he felt that way, he also felt his Marco faith and serenity thin as he walked into his old house. His mother greeted him in a high pitched voice; she was all stressed out about everything because of something along the lines of  "Your father and this man used to be business partners, but then they had a child and we had you and we never hung out, anymore so-" Bla bla bla, and so on. His mother was one of those women who talked but never said anything. She just talked and talked until you lost your ability to listen.

 

The bell rung, and that second he could almost hear my mother's heart race. His father was still in his room putting on a different suit and a new 'I'm a friendly business man' mask. Those masks were good and thick, he'd have to give 'em that. Even he failed to see the man behind it most of the time.  "Come inside!" his mother cheered as he sat on the couch with no shoes on, eating all the chips before he was going to have to act like a proper man.  

He went through all the warnings; 'don't frown so much' , 'be kind', 'don't start a fight' 'don't act so rebellious' , 'eat properly' and so on.

The warnings disappeared when their guests walked through the door. What he saw somehow didn't surprise him a lot; maybe because he already was a little bit irritated and he was expecting the neatest assholes to walk through the door. Maybe because it had happened in a dream that ended with one of them dying in terrible ways.

"Jean sweety, this is Noah, come say hi"

He frowned but his frown quickly turned into a cocky smirk as he realized; this boy had no fucking business with anything that was his. This house was his, Marco was his.  "Hey, I'm Jean"  He held out his hand, glad the other was frowning when he took it.

"Noah"  

He felt like laughing his ass off.

The boy looked broke with nothing to fix him.

It sounds so mean and harsh but he was being mean for two people, he was being mean for both Marco and himself, so yeah, yeah he loved the broken look on Noah's face more than anything.

His mother started talking about stuff like "Noah goes to school near here, does football ain't that great? You should pick up on soccer again or something like that-"   which quickly switched to things more like "he was so great at it, though now he's focussing on realistic things like economics, he's a natural"

Noah's mum went against it and they just gossiped and talked about how great they were while Noah and I held some kind of glaring contest.  

"Sweety Noah and you can go up to game"  mum said somewhere. The one question I was afraid of.

"No need" he answered. But there was no way to get out of it. Eventually he ended up with Noah in one room. He was texting. Noah was texting. Just so that they could keep themselves from kicking each other's ass.  Also a little bit because Noah knew darn well who he was texting, damn he was probably wishing he could do the same.  

He didn't tell Marco that Noah was at his place. It would make Marco panic all evening and he didn't see any need for such a thing.  

"Dinner!" the call they were waiting for since forever. The holy interruption of the insane tension and him trying to keep his asshole ness down a little.

For Marco.

For Marco.

For freckled and smiles and crappy french.

He ate the damn expensive dish for it. He smiled at Noah's parents for it. He pretended to be proud for it. He was thinking about coming home and crawling into a bed with his sweet unnamed-ness.

"Jean was actually going to a documentary movie about a very important Photographer today but he let it slip last minute to come eat with us, Very sweet of him" His mother mumbled while nodding; his father followed.

"Oh really now"  

"Yes, oh sometimes I think he's getting too intellectual" his mother laughed; she was lying. She never thought something along those lines. She was just utterly confused about his actions. Literally always.

Noah looked up. Both of them- but not their parents- knew how one became like this. Knew who had such interests. He smirked. Noah swallowed.

"His roommate takes him"

This time Noah's frown deepened; Marco hadn't told him about the fact they had been living together, fuck, they had had sex in his room and Noah didn't know it was his.

"Boyfriend, not just roommate" He corrected. Just to see Noah's damn face. Just to piss everyone off.

Just to pretend for one second.. that maybe that was the case.

The reactions of the elders weren't quick enough. They were surprised sure, but the speed with which Noah stood up, just to intimidate him, surprised them more.

He kept calm. Smiled and the casually said "Actually, he ate at your place once, maybe he told you about me?"

That was it.

A fist locked with his nose and his smirk was wiped off his face; it was worth it. Physical pain is nothing compared to mental.

"NOAH!" Everyone screamed, though as he took Noah by his colar everyone was on him too. Food over the floor.

Their eyes held fire.

Marco was amazing for achieving such a thing. Such spoiled boys. So lost, so damn foolish. They glared and he bled. Not Noah though, Noah just rotted inside slowly.

"Jean, let go right now!" His mother yelled. He did. He looked at her and apologized, because he did love his mother. He really did.

"Idiots! What the hell are you two doing? Where did that come from Noah?!"  Noah's mother was yelling too. While his mother, stayed a little bit calmer, getting some paper for his bleeding nose; big chance Noah had broke it, hurt like hell.

Their fathers looked at them in disappointment. Yet he felt so damn proud. He wasn't like Noah; he didn't even want to live up to his father's expectations; Noah still tried.

Something warmed his heart though. He stood in the kitchen with his mother, and Noah and his mother stood on the other side of the living room, both duo's trying to become calm. He heard his father and Noah's father talk.  "Your boy needs to be controlled, he probably broke Jean's nose. And for what?  and here I thought Jean was instinctive"

"Excuse me? Your son just proudly announced he was gay!"  

"I don't see the link between being gay and getting your nose broken though, explain your point."

He had never felt like crying so much.

His mother heard. His mother smiled at him and whispered very, very softly  "I'm sorry.. "  for all the time she said shit about his gay friends, about faggots, for all the times she bitched about gay people. She was sorry. Not because she liked them. Just because she loved him in her own ways.

"I don't believe you" he said.

"I know baby." She looked away "I don't support your choice, actually, but I'm not going to be the one making it either.. I'm going to do the same and just hope-"

"Don't hope, I'm in love mum, don't hope for me to become a lesser person than I can be"

She frowned "alright.. alright I understand"

It was that simple.

 

After that everyone but him and his mother continued dinner; he was driving to the nearest hospital to get his nose checked; this was the first time Noah had really landed a good hit on him and he didn't even feel ashamed about it.

His parents had protected him despite him liking a boy. Even though half of the shit he spouted were lies. Noah could only wish for the same. Therefore Noah deserved to break his nose, he took it with pride. With all the blood on his expensive shirt; he still had more than the other.

After the doctor confirmed he had a broken nose they drove home.  The silence was unbearable. He trusted his mother in that moment. for accepting him. And she deserved more than she got  "Noah was dating Marco for a long time.. until I met him." He looked out of the window "That's kind of why he broke my nose"

"But Noah is-"

"Don't tell anyone. Please. They both went through a lot trying to keep Noah straight"

His mother didn't quite understand but she nodded.  "Can I meet him?"

"Who?"

"This damn magical boy of course, getting you fired up like that"

"Mum no, dad will kill him or something and it would be awkward and-"

She bit her lip  "Just for a second, I'll walk you to your room and say hi. I just- this is weird for me and I want to know if he's.. you know.. normal"

"He's not. He's fucking special"

"This is weird"

He grinned and let himself fall into his chair "tell me about it"

 

He walked up front. Whining about how his nose hurt and about how his mother needed to act as if she wasn't someone to disciminate. Not that any of that would fool Marco but still.  

Opening his door, Marco walked his way right away, wide eyes.  "Jean what happened to your nose? I- what's wrong? are you okay? holy I-"   He looked at my mother behind me "ah, miss Kirschtein"  

Marco was shivering nervously as she took his hand.  "We had the Nelton family over" his mother explained casually.

"Oh no, Jean you didn't"

"I didn't even punch back" he held his hands in the sky protectively.   "I told my mother though" he whispered softly.  

Marco looked up in his mother's eyes. In fear, maybe? "I'm sorry ma'am"

"No need" She smiled.  "Now, I'll let you two be. Bye sweety"

That was all. He felt his heart beating in all the places it wasn't supposed to beat. That was all. He came off so damn well. Physically, not so much. Mentally, fucking amazing.

Marco took his cheeks in both hands and looked in his eyes deeply.  "Jean"

He cried. He broke down.  "My father- my father said to Noah's that 'he didn't see the connection between being gay and a broken nose' as if I hadn't done anything wrong" Marco seemed to choke. He kissed his forehead and his ears, afraid to hurt him "And my mother said sorry and-" He cried. For Marco. Fuck. He did everything for Marco.

"Why did you tell them? I-"

"I said you were my boyfriend, to piss Noah off and-"

"Why?!  Was is worth it? Was it worth risking your family?"

"Yes. Yes. It was because I am not straight. Fuck. I am in love with you. It wasn't just a joke I was risking everything for, it was just not completely the truth"

Marco fell into silence at his cried words. His look was lost.  "Alright. Alright I understand"

"No you don't"

"Yes I do Jean! I know I don't say that I love you because those words have become empty and I've told them before. I have told other boys I loved them and I've told Noah that."   He swallowed "But you- I thought I didn't need to tell you that, and I thought I didn't need to say I am your boyfriend for you to know I'm yours because I can't do that right now. I thought you understood that"

"I do.. I'm trying to prove something here though, that's the way I work"

Marco took my hand and carefully let his face slide over it. Still not daring to touch mine because of the nose and whatever other reason he had.  "I know, you proved yourself, Jean"

He breathed calmly " You replaced all my shame with love.. it's scary Marco"

"Kiss me. Carefully. Don't be instinctive your no-"  He kissed him. Softly. Like. Very seriously softly. Just a peck. So damn soft and careful.  

"Shit that's intense"

Marco smiled silently. He smiled and eyed him sweetly. Then pulled out his shirt, helped him pulling out his. They stood like that in silence. "I never want to go back" He whispered. Marco nodded and let his hand slide over him. Caressing it softly. He kissed his shoulder and neck and whispered "Then don't"

"I hurt Noah" He answered. As if that would change Marco's mind. Testing him maybe.  

"Being foolish because of emotions doesn't surprise me.. "   Kissed traveled all over his bare neck.  "I'm foolish too" he whispered, stroking his hip and letting his nose trail from shoulder to ear "Look at me, trying to compromise the heaviness of the kiss I want you give you for letting my ex break your nose"

"I'm not complaining" He felt naked and weak. No he wasn't complaining one bit. These were the things he wanted to feel in Marco's arms.

"Neither am I"The words were hummed against his bare back. Arms traveling over his, taking his hands and then hugging him; all four arms around him. It was weird and it fitted. It fitted the two of them and it fitted all the kisses on his neck. "You deserve everything"  He whispered.

"Marco"

"Hm?"

"no.. it just sounds nice, when I realize you're so close"   

Marco nodded and smiled against his bare skin. Sending shivers through him. He had goose bumps all over. His brain was light "Jean.. Jean. Jean. Mine. Jean. Freedom. The truth. You"

"Kiss me"  

"No"

"Please"  Very softly Marco turned around and kissed him again. He bumped against his nose a few times when it deepened. When their tongues met and their mouths moved together. He held in all the pain; he just didn't want to pull back. So he pushed all the pain away, and he felt Marco heal him.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean is a walking bag of insecurity and Marco calls him his 'black coffee on a sinful sunday morning'
> 
> he never thought he's drink coffee.

Marco is what people don't appreciate enough in this world.

People that don't see him the way he is are like the subsidy that art doesn't get anymore, they are the people who prefere Ereaders over books and those who prefer soda over tea or coffee. Of course no one can tell them what to do, and shit, he had been there, but these people now seem so goddamn foolish to him.

No one sees how blind they are!

No one listened when artists scream that they'll die before even passing away!

No one realizes, that they need someone to say:  "we are living in an Utopia."  No one  realizes that those words are the truth.

No. No, because my beef is baked minimum and I asked for minimum RARE , it's raining outside at half past four while my app said it wouldn't until five, I have to learn out of book with too many words and my hands hold some bacteria because I touched something public.

Oh, but no, no these people haven't died. just Marco is quite a weird boy, we don't need such people.

"Oh when you smiling, when you smiling, the whole world, smiles with you baby~" Marco was singing and dancing through the room. Marco had finally picked up Jazz ballet with a side of urban Jazz again. His mother was more than glad to hear such a thing. Marco was the son she had always wanted. It was more than he could say about his mother, then again she and his father had done more for him than he could imagine. His mother even went to a length of texting him warnings about when his father might want to talk about his whole being gay issue. Which he wasn't. Like.. a bit bisexual at maximum.

Sax solo. Marco draped his arms around him and swung them both from side to side. A sweet smile on his face  "Tu vas me manquer"  

"What does that mean?" Marco's should do some voice acting for porn. Like, his voice was the most honeyed voice he had ever heard. The way every single word seemed to be sung with low vibrations.  

"That I'll miss you. When you- When you leave for France"

"You should come"  the whisper made him shiver.

He wanted to. He really did want to come with Marco. But it seemed like something Marco would have to do on his own. He wanted to get into a good university too. Not disappoint his parents by following his beautiful homosexual piece of art into the hellhole his granny called her home.  "Into that shithole full of arrogant assholes?"

"Yes"

"No thanks, I don't even understand how you can keep up with the arrogance of french people"

"I have a thing for arrogant and asshole french boys.. I think"

"'s full of em' there so you can easily replace me"

Marco took my cheeks in his hands "Jean.."

"I didn't mean for it to sound like that. I really don't mind you going, and I- I'll come to find you when I'm in france or something"

Marco carefully kissed him. He smelled like morning. Which would usually be a terrible smell but with Marco it was fine. He was just quite seriously glad that he hadn't gotten used to the smell while sleeping next to the other boy.

“Maybe they won't take me"

"sure, I can imagine how that'll go" he snorted ugly "Frederique!  Oui Adrien!  Wellu, this boyu, speaks two langueges, he rides goode poetry, he dances ballet and ballroom, good abstract art, he singus opera, andu-   No tell him he need to stayu in cheap American!"

Marco laughed genuinely "But there are so many good artist!"

He handed Marco the nearest pencil "Please just jab this through my brain"

To honest, he really wasn'tone to compliment other. Or himself, really. But with Marco it was just impossible to not do such a thing. He was just being straightforward and honest. He loved every single bit of the boy, though Marco was like dita von tease or beyonce; everyone was unworthy and he was just out of reach.

Like, seriously, when he said Marco deserved more admiration he didn't mean he wanted it that way; as he wasn't truly worth Marco's whole being.

Marco didn't that. It was obvious Marco didn't lust after him as much but Marco touched him lovingly. Never sexually. It always made him wonder; what about sexually? What about hungry eyes he often failed to hdie? What about.. well you know.

He just, wanted to know if that was something for Noah only.

"My mum's so happy, she asks when you're coming over about every five seconds"

"We should.."

Marco seemed taken back a bit "Oh, I thought you'd be awkward about it"

"Always am about everything." They smiled at the pride in his voice "Maybe, I'll go telling the rest about my queerness and our not nameness"

"I bet they'll all find that very clear. 'well guys, I'm not very sure what's going on but Marco and I sure are being a bit homosexual'" Marco quotes with spotting voice.

"Doesn't matter if they understand, I'm not going to let you be hidden again. Planning on showing you off all will smith style"

Marco blushed and looked at his hands.

Yes.

Yes marco really had been hidden for way too long. Stuck in a jar of shitty love waiting someone to take the lid off and throw away all the damn rotten love.  "Do you.. feel bad about not getting to that point with him?"  With Noah. He rarely spoke Noah's name lately.

"Sometimes.. It's fine though"

Alright.

Not yet, Marco was not yet completely his.

That was fine though. Sure he felt like ripping Noah's balls off but Marco was fine. Marco loved him a bit and he let him.. help the recovery.  "Okay then"

While eating dinner they watched some damn 80's movie he wasn't supposed to like as much as he did. Some shitty chinese take out, and still light outside because of the hot summer air. They hadn't even thought about going outside because the sun was quite likely to kill him, and Marco luckily wanted him in all his white grumpiness alive.

When they finished they sneaked off to the dancing room. Marco holding his hand and smiling shyly. Not that he wasn't getting excited. The dancing room meant Marco was going to express himself. He knew Marco had some things piled up; he had been writing as if he was batshit crazy. Day in day out just scribbling things down. Filling one large notebook a week. Often throwing papers away and mumbling something like "if you take that out and read it I'm leaving and never coming back" He knew that already. He trusted Marco to show him the right poem, song or dance. Also.. he would really be stuck in his own dirt that had become mud as it mixed with his tears, if Marco's leave before they even graduated.

He secretly hoped it was about him, he hadn't had the guts to ask such a thing.

"Piano or Ipod?"  He asked.

"Piano" Marco answered.

"Feelings or art?"

Marco smiled at him as he sat down "Both"

"Marco.." a silent nod, smiling proudly yet held back "Is this song about erm- wel-  what is the song about?"

"Basically, it's about when I first met you.. like.. you were so far away from me, you walked in with this damn grumpy face and never spoke to me, yet now.. Let's say it's the me from back then, talking as if he knows how we are now"

"Sounds awesome"

Marco started playing an intro. Low chords, four keys. Marco had once explained, or more like complained, that Jazz chords had four keys. Always going on about 'pop is so overated and simple compared to Jazz.'  He got what he was trying to say. Jazz chords just sounded so lovely, depressing, yeah that too, but lovely.

Marco suddenly stopped "I can't do this"

"Please? Marco I know that I look as if I don't apreciate art- or maybe anything really-  and I know you're not used to people loving yours, to people seeing how brave you are for making art. But Shit, I really do"

"I know" He didn't. Not enough.

Softly, he kissed Marco's hair. "I'll love it"

The chords galmed through the room again, they made him light up inside. He was flying. Fuck, he wasn't even the same man anymore. Usually he was deep in the ground, with nothing but darkness and some ants.

He floated.

Marco sung.

"He's black coffee, Not really my cup of tea

but ever since I met him, that darkness follows me.

Slowly, but surely, that bitter tasted good.

And now I'm siping coffee, like I said I never would"

He went on about his hair, about some gleam in his eye. About the fact Marco was green tea, quote -"making him able to see right through me"

Some things about his harshness to others and honestly to the other. "Looking down on everybody, but directly at me" Marco sung.

It was complimenting.

Yeah sure, the song was basically calling out on all his shitty things but it was complimenting. He sung that he couldn't stay away from his shitty being. That his shitty being was something that could be loved.

When finished Marco looked up shyly. Somehow all the air in the room took Marco's heart beat over. Or was it his? Maybe theirs were just in synch.

"That was beautiful..I, I didn't think you saw me as something.. like.. intense or-"

"A kind of grace?"

"well yeah"

"Of course Jean, do you think someone who stumbles into a lonely feeling classroom a few days late, looking like black coffee on a sinful sunday morning, wouldn't do something to me?"

"Black coffee on a sinful sunday morning?  shit, I wish I was original enough to describe you in words"

"Try"

"I can't.. Maybe you are wordless, just a feeling, a mood¨ calm. lust. Happiness.

Marco smiled and moved to peck his lips. Still half on the piano stool. He pushed Marco back, while kissing him deeper.

A shitload of noise. The piano screeching as if it was a cat and someone had stepped on his tail. Marco sitting on the keys wasn't all too different though.

Marco giggled but didn't move. The sound faded. "Sorry" He whispered.

This was answered by akiss. Marco's hand in his hair and the other on his shivering arm. He was breathing quite heavy already. Marco wouldn't notice.

"Marco, we.. come back to the room with me?"

Fuck, Marco's smile made his insides turn. Roll around while screaming Marco's name loudly, over and over again.

His ears were thumping as they came closer to their room.

Thum.

Thum.

Thum.

Marco.

Marco.

Marco.

Who cared? It was all the same to him. It felt the same. The only difference was; he had once wished for his heartbeat to stop but he hadn't once wished to stop Marco. Marco wouldn't quite him, but fuck, his heart felt like it was planning on doing so right that moment.

As soon as the door closed he was on Marco's lips. Forgetting to breathe but hell, breathing felt just as useless as his heartbeat.

Lust. Lust. Lust.

The human's worst sin.

The most dangerous weapon the human race possesses. A suicide one. Takes down you and all the people you feel for.

Deep.

Deep kisses, deep thoughts, deeply penetrated in his hopes for the future.

"Marco.."he whispered.

Marco smiled before pushing their lips back together.

The shirt he had been wearing on his bad, his hands on Marco's bare back. Kisses, french, pecks.  Sharing what he saw as lust.

His hands headed to Marco's jeans, his breath shaky and savilla thick.

Marco's stopped his hands.

Stop him.

Stop lust.

Stop his heartbeat and breath.

"I- fuck-" He cursed. Marco never cursed.

He didn't dare to look up. He just wanted to sag into the ground deep enough to hide his hard lower self. Preferably his face too really.  

" I didn't know that you.. you meant-"

He swallowed heavily "It's fine, I- My mistake"

"Jean-"

"Erm, yeah, well" Fuck fuck fuck fuck "I'm going for a walk, like, outside, like, right now.. fuck"  

"Jean plea-" He walked out. CLosed the fucking door in his loves face. Cursing desperately.

He basically raced to the nearest bathroom. For the first time in his life praying; that no one would see him.

Closing the door quickly and cursing loudly he realized he hadn't considered Marco's feelings. Then again, with his hand down his own pants, it didn't really matter anymore.

He said Marco's name when he came. This made the horrid facts sink in.

He hated himself that second. He was in a in a freaking bathroom stall wiping himself with the rough toilet paper just because he was an inconsiderate fuck.

He slowly walked back. As if being slow could keep him from getting to the damn room. Really he just wanted to leave, but he couldn't get leaving Marco alone over his heart. He wasn't going to be like all Marco had before; someone who runs away when there's even a little bit of trouble. Which was special because this kind of was his whole approach on everything.

Assistant, he opened the door.  "Jean?"

"Yeah, here"

Marco's eyes were wide and he let out a deep breath "Thank god"

"Sorry"he mumbled.

The other shook his head "No, it's my fault for not having myself in line, like, your actions were logical and I should feel-"

"No. It's the passion I love and if you think like that and force yourself I don't even want you" He didn't want Marco to think he 'should' feel the lust.

"I want you.."  He looked at Marco way too quickly "Just not now."

"Just not now.."He repeated painfully and questioning. "Okay, okay fine, fick it all, s'what I get for falling for your complicated ass"

Marco chuckled awkwardly "I'll make it worth it?"

"Deal"  he believed the promise wholeheartedly, it didn't do much to make him feel less shitty still.  "So eh, do you want to get the fuck out of here?"

"Please"

 

Marco gave directions to his favorite spot. One where the lights were dim and the world was quiet, he said. So they drove to a place he had never seen. Silent and both watching the road. Some Billie Holiday album he had bought Marco not all too long ago playing in the background. Marco hummed softly, from time to time. It made his heart skip a beat as if he was about to talk.

He parked his car at a small lot with the amazing amount of two street lights. As he looked on he saw one street light in about thirty to forty meters. Aparently they were lucky that the sun had just gone down and the sky was still lit up by red and purple water paint alike colours. "We need to walk"

When they did he didn't dare to take Marco's hand like he often did;  he still felt disgusting. He was ashamed too, touching would double all those feelings. "About what happened.."  He didn't really want to hear Marco say it, not even 'not really' like, very seriously not  "I'll tell you when.. it'll be soon, probably, but right now my body just.."

A thick silence "Your body?"

"This will sound like bulshit to you, but you said I could express my feelings honestly" he nodded "well, erm,  my body just doesn t feel like it's completely mine. If it would happen now, I would feel like cheating both you and me"

"Oh" yeah oh, Jean, once again you win the nobel prize on being the most inconsiderate duck alive.

The rest of the way they walked in silence. There were some flies flying into his face but he barely noticed, his head somewhere else. Until they eventually stopped under a big tree, probably a weeping willow. It hung above the water, some leaves softly caressing it. Lots of insects singing a their mating song or such, honestly the sound made him want to get Marco to sing over it again. Then again it fitted. All the chirping of birds, the flying of flies, the crickets screaming as if the damn lady would fall for such.  It was nice, he usually didn't really like warm summer nights but this one, he had to admit, was lovely. Aspecially on Marco's spot, near the water, fresh and warm. Calm yet with so much life. He saw some fireflies all over at the other side. They reminded him of Marco. They made the perfect mood and the perfect light, but you had to go find them, they didn't just appear into everyone's life.

"This is it" he mumbled.

Marco looked at him "What?"

"I said I couldn't explain you with words, but this is you if it's not you.. the damn fireflies, the sound of the lake as if it's the everlasting pouring of expensive green tea, the warmth, the calmth."

"Oh.." Marco looked into his eyes "Thank you"

He held out his hand and waited for Marco to take it. When he did he softly brought it closer, let his nose and lips rest against it. He didn't kiss it but he softly stroke Marco's hand, with his cheek and nose.  "You know, at other places I'd say it's better to make use of it. Break it down, make books, food and place apartments.. but such a place, is not a place to mindlessly use, it's one to slowly appreciate over the years. Keep coming, see the change, keep loving it without ever breaking a bit of it to use it… that too is why it's like you" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love ya'll


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all over the fucking place and also fucking all over the place as in blowjobs (yay)

_His eye was still black when he woke up. The entire week he had spend wishing all of his life had been a dream. Every day he woke up feeling sore, he dared to think this feeling was left from a dream about the football players hitting him. One glance in the mirror proved the opposite. He was out, he was beat up and - which he somehow hated most- he wouldn’t be  known as talented but just as ‘gay’. The way he expressed himself was not art, it was normal queer behaviour. It wasn’t special for ‘people like him’. Why? Why was his art unworthy as soon as he was homosexual?_

_Wait. No. No that was not the worst thing of all; Noah was._

_He wished that he didn’t have to look into the mirror to know how he looked. He wanted Noah to pretend he was the best mirror and give the most subjective ‘you are beautiful’ he had ever heard. He wished, one day someone would tell him that and mean it, he could only hope it was Noah._

_The thing is: people don’t work that way. They always take something unhealthy but incredibly sweet. It even kills people._

_When he finally walked down strairs his mother frowned at him. “honey, you are going to feel even worse sulking away in a smelly black hoody”_

_“That’s the plan” but it wasn’t. She told him that ‘class and happiness is the best answer to hate’ which was completely true but somehow harder to believe when broken by hate._

_He ended up leaving the badass and depressed look for a classy look. His mother hid his black eye with make up and pushed against his back until he was standing at least as straight as he usually did.  “You know who else they tried to bring down?”_

_“People who committed suicide?”_

_His mother took his chin in her hands and sternly turned his head so that he was looking at her “Legends, Marco. Billy Holliday, louis, lady gaga, allen ginsberg, vincent van gogh, the majority of the people you love were brought down because they were the same kind of geniuses you are”_

_The words rung in his mind. Not because of the power behind them but because the painful silence that hung around him all day had to be filled. They weren’t even being mean anymore they were just giving him the silent treatment. Even the people he did trust avoided him as much as possible. They were swept away with the crowd, and the crowd didn’t include him. The grown turned single smiled into scoldings and so the single smiled disappeared. That was the hardest part; realizing that he had never really had friends._

_“Marco, please wait  for a second” He placed his books in his bag and looked up at the teacher. His mentor. “How have you been doing?”_

_“Fine”_

_The teacher laughed sadly “Even that answer is so unlike you..”  For a while they fell into silence, followed by an “Look, the janitor told me what happened and I’m making work of it but I just was to make sure that you are happy”_

_“I am sir”  He reminded himself to sit up straight again. He failed._

_“The year isn’t going to last long anymore, Marco,  so I just wanted to ask if you want to stay in this school?”_

_Marco bit his lip “Going to another school will not change me”_

_“There are schools that are a lot more open minded, like you.  You know what they say right? If your dreams are too big for the place you’re in, then get out”_

_“I’d have to get out of the entire country” I breath out._

_“Then do”  He looked up and stared into his mentor’s eyes. Not an hint of a joke in them. He looked stern and concerned. His heart was beating really loud. The idea seemed.. appealing. Unrealistic, sure, but very appealing. He saw himself in a big city in a foreign country. Maybe Amsterdam, London or Paris.  Maybe New Orleans or New york. If only they’d take him. The right start indeed was starting his arts again. He linked hope and art. He linked the cities and art “Think about the other school for now, I could get you in if you’d just yell”_

_That night he didn’t sleep. He hung in his mother’s art room all night and she didn’t mind. He wrote a song. He failed a bit at painting (once again). He wrote poems and more poems and even more poems. He listened to Dinah Washington and felt how he had abused his own body by not using it the way he was using it now. It had been long since it felt like his body was his. Not just Noah’s, not just his bully’s, his body._

_And I’ll tell you something;  when the morning sun was shining through the window he felt reborn. He hadn’t closed an eye. He should have fallen down on the ground while realizing that school was a useless place. Instead he walked out of the room, kissed his mother- who was surprised he was even awake at the time- on her cheek and walked up to get dresses. He carefully buttoned every button on his blouse and stared at his black eye. It was no scar but yet they had left one too big to be seen by the eye._

_He looked at his phone and answered Noah’s text about coming over. Then he walked down and took some of his Mother’s french toast. “Mum, I want to go to another school. Mr Johnson said he could easily get me in”_

_“Sounds lovely, darling, I’ll go talk to Mr Johnson about it”_

_French toast with banana hadn’t tasted so good in quite a while. His black eye looked good on him and his hands were sore from writing all night. He thought about Noah and wondered how to tell him. He didn’t wonder if he would though; he would go and he would tell Noah.   “It’s survey’s right? Because I know one of the philosophy teachers and he’s really good!”_

_“I did like Sophie's world.. I might take classes, I don't know”_

_“What I’m trying to say is that you will definitely find your place there, Marco, he loves it there"_  

 

 

“Which cake did your mum want?”

He now saw that it was almost their turn, Jean didn’t seem to mind him spacing out but kindly reminded him that they still had to buy something for his mother’s birthday. “The red velvet and we could choose another one, which one do you want?”  

Jean smiled at him with the cockiest smile ever.  “I don’t need a cake, doesn’t even taste sweet anymore after meeting you”

“Jean shut up, people are here”

Jean chuckled “Oh no, what do I do now? I don’t think they need an explanation about why I’m attracted to you” he pulled up his eyebrow and pushed away his shy smile “I don’t like cake so you can choose”

“Alright let’s take twenty pieces of rocky road then”  

“sounds like a plan”

“oh well, I am apparently attracted to rocky and rough things”

“Oh fuck off”  Jean put his arms around his shoulder and laughed into his hair while he counted the money. Jean seemed to have thrown away all of his shame and replaced it with just living in the moment. He wasn’t complaining but he wasn’t used to it either.

 

With a bag from the patisserie in one hand and Jean’s hand in the other he walked through the streets. People were staring at them but Jean was looking at him. Quite a big step for Jean to take. “No need to force yourself Jean.. people are looking”

“But why would I look back when they’re all ugly and you are not? It would make my day a whole lot less beautiful”  

He laughed happily while walking on “Jean people in there are going to ask if you’re my boyfriend-”

“Yeah I know, but your mother’s friends are cool right?”

Nodding, he mumbled “But you could just say you are.. No one will understand my ‘he’s more than just that’ theory without thinking you are my fiance and besides.. It kind of is the case”

“Ah, is that so?”

“yeah, if you want that”

“Yeah sure, okay, I’d really like to say that then”  It was that simple with Jean. It hadn’t always been that simple, because he had been hung up on memories like the ones he had thought of in the shop. He had been hung up on memories with Noah and memories of his own pain.

It all seemed rather useless now. It had all been a drama and now it was just whatever. He was close with Jean, so close they were boyfriends, but they were just waiting for an okay moment knowing that it would literally change nothing. They held no fears anymore because they didn’t have to grip tight and fight to hold the other in their sight. They just stayed there because other places seemed cold and unreal.  They both knew the other wouldn’t leave because that would mean the other would chose to be uncomfortable.

At least, they had no such fears until he would leave to France.

He had thought about it. He had thought about not leaving for Jean and the idea seemed very appealing. The thing was, he was not ready to rest his future on a man. Even if it was a man like Jean. For a while he had dreamed that Jean would leave with him. It was nothing more than a dream, Jean wanted to go into law and he would be able to do so.

They’d survive. He hoped. He didn’t really believe it but he sure hoped.

 

He started pushing on the bell in the rythm of ‘happy birthday’ and Jean frowned at him mumbling something along the lines of “crazy fucking rythmic people”. Only he seemed to think of this as crazy behaviour because his mother opened the door with a big casual smile “Happy birthday mum!” She laughed and kissed him on the forehead, then she turned to Jean, said “I’m so happy you were able to come” and kissed both his cheeks. I wondered if he’d be okay with that but he was French so I hoped he was used to such a thing.  

“Happy birthday” he said hesitating a little, but his mum just thanked him and pulled him inside so they could help with preparations and such. She was already on to tell a story about literally all his birthdays from the past.  From terrible to cute.  About how he had wanted a guitar when he was younger and he had cried when he got one, a cheap Spanish guitar. She told him about the gamecube he was really excited about because his friends had it, and how he had never used it until recently (when Jean first came to their house, but she didn’t know that). She even told him about how Noah had only been there in the morning on his last birthday because he didn’t want to meet anyone, not even as a friend.

“Mum, please stop”

“You don’t tell him enough!”

“I do”

“He really doesn’t, Anja” They stood there laughing and he tried to look upset. He had never felt something so far from upset.

That evening was filled with all his Mother’s friends asking questions about Jean. They had been excited about meeting anyone in his life. Some already knew he had a boyfriend - when it was still Noah-  and some didn’t even know he was gay. This made the questions vary between “oh not your friend but boyfriend? So you are gay or-”   and  “Is this the one Anja told us about?”  both were easy to answer and Jean made himself quite approachable compared to his usual self. He was very seriously glad that Jean was willing to be as extrovert for the evening and actually endlessly enjoyed finally being able to talk about how they had met for hours and hours. Even though everyone around him was open, this was a first time.  Thanks to Jean. All thanks to Jean.

“Actually! This is not my boyfriend from back then, Jean kind of saved  me get out of that relationship, got his nose broken for it”

“Meh, it was nothing, didn’t even feel it” Everyone around them let their laughs galm through the room and started chatting again. Sometimes they’d stop to listen to their conversation and sometimes no one would even mind them, giving him the chance to slip his hand into Jean’s and give the other the warmest smile he could manage.  

A fork against some glass.

The shrill noise send shivers down his spine before he looked up at his mother. “Everyone!”  Silence fell over the room. Some last mumbled faded away beforr his mother spoke again. “I know today is my birthday but something even more special happened”  Mumbles again. His mother held out a big envelope and pointed at him to come get it. He swallowed heavily, he didn’t think it was that letter but it should have arrived one of those days. His legs didn’t manage to carry him all too well so he nervously fell over a few times.

“Mum is this?” She nodded happily. His mind stopped working. The chance the letter had nothing good to say was so big. Why would she let so many people see his failure? What if the letter was nothing but bad news, what would he do then?  
He was already embarassing himself. His fingers shivering so bad he could barely manage to get the envelope open. He heard nothing because of his heart beat in his ears and it took quite a while before he even had his sight under control enough to read words. A deep breath   “Dear Marco, we saw your auditioning material and we would be more than happy to have you at Paris College of Art-  I holyshit, excuse my language but holyfuck”

“I think it’s excuse my french now!” Someone yelled and he looked up with the brightest smile on his face.

He got in. His ambitions and dreams would not be held back. He was good enough. Maybe that was all he needed to know. He was not some kid crying in the middle of a dressing room about how gay he was. He was a dancer and a poet, an artist and he was so much more than everyone who had brought him down. He was accepted. They would be happy to have him. Those words rung in his mind.  

Two hands held his face in place before he could even think any more life changing optimistic things.Lips were pressed against his happily but deeply. In front of everyone.

Let me tell you something, reader, for someone who has doubted being able to make anyone proud of him his whole life, getting accepted in one of the biggest art colleges and then having your spoiled darn boyfriend press his sweet lips against yours in front of a lot of people, is a really big thing. It makes you free and of so freaking proud.

He promised himself, right in that moment, that he would never bring himself down. He didn’t need a mirror, he would never even be able to see himself in real life, so Jean and achievements would be his mirror. Those two, Jean and his achievements, told him that he was pretty damn good. Like, Jean was double of those, because he was himself but he was quite the achievement too.

“I’m so proud of you”

Pride was welling up in his chest “Thank you so much, Jean”

His mother pecked him and Jean on their cheek “Congratulations sweety, though it’s not very surprising”

“You already opened it right?”

She chuckled awkwardly, telling him that yes, yes she had. “But I also believed in you”

One man rose this glass “To the Bodt’s and their creative minds!” it was his mother’s best friend, a man who had been like an uncle to him. He understood us better than anyone and he seemed to be excited like a father would have been. Not as much as Mother or Jean though. The two both held his gaze and one hand, clinging their other classes together.   “Santé!”  Jean said and everyone followed him in the progress.

When dinnertime hit he couldn’t resist the urge to get away from all the people he usually loved. With Jean of course. He needed something. Adrenaline was still rushing through him and Jean answered his looks oh so friendly. The whole time he sat there and watched everyone chat he could only think about leaving and staying with Jean. How the last minutes would go. How he wanted to go but how their goodbyes would be. About how intense he was going to make every second they were together from the second he realized they would be a part to the second they’d be apart. For a while, not forever of course.

He stood up while looking at Jean, hoping the other would take a hint, which he didn’t. “Jean..” Softly, no one heard, too busy slurping down their courgette soup or and putting expensive tapenade of their bread.  

“Yeah?”

He cocked his head to the side to the side where his door was. Jean frowned his eyebrows.  “Let’s go do the thing for a second-”

“What thi- oh, oh the thing.. the yeah okay, the thing, I’ll be coming to do the thi-”

“Please stop”

Jean cracked a smile “Alright then.”  and smaller hand cought his tanned one and they headed into his room. As soon as they were there he pulled Jean into a tight hug, just breathing into his neck for a while and calming himself.  Jean just chuckled and let his hands circle around on the other’s back.  “You okay bud babe?”

“Butt babe?”

“Buddy and babe, both, you are my buddy and my babe”  

He chuckled lightheartedly “I thought you meant butt and in ass”  

A hand found his ass and squeezed it softly, Jean looked thoughtful and pouted his lip, he lipped his lips a few times and then nodded with approval,  “I see how you’d get to that conclusion, you indeed have a babe worthy butt, next time I’ll add it to the line”  

“Bodt butt bud babe”   Jean laughed while pulling back. Then they just stared at each other for a while. No need to speak, it seemed. He had enough words, he didn’t really feel like getting up yet. Jean was making him lazy, he never needed to do anything anymore. He didn’t feel so rushed and stressed all the time. Before he had always felt like he was on the road, or hiding, like he was in a war situation. Now I was at peace.

Okay grander way to explain it; with Noah, I felt I was stuck in the state of nature that Thomas Hobbes believed in. Terrified, fighting for what I wanted, adrenalized and a present to the great leader everyone needed to become more. Noah was my levihan, even though it sounds ridiculous now.  And Jean.. well Jean, ironically enough made me feel like I was in the state of nature Jean Jacques Rousseau believed in. At peace,  with a lot to share, no leader and no war.  It felt lovely, even though the idea had always seemed naive to others.

“So what are you thinking about? You were staring at me” A cocky smirk was on the other’s lips, they both knew he was staring at his lips despite the deep thoughts that crossed his mind.

“Fictional state of nature by Rousseau” Jean rose his eyebrows rose and a hourse chuckle left his mouth “And also about kissing you”

“You just had to make it fucking impressive and shi-”  he pushed his lips onto Jean’s and Jean followed his movements within seconds. A gravel hump came out of his lover when he pushed him against the door until they could barely get any closer together. The sloppy kiss leaving their mouths and traveled to Jean’s jawline, which was tight enough to cut one with by the way.  Jean chuckled and silvery breathed his name.  “There’s a party going on”

“Just a bit longer”

Jean gaped at him for some seconds, his puppy eyes doing their best and most erotic job. The hazel eyes seemed to go from halfhearted to unwilling, the sigh was only an extension to the conclusion they'd stay.  “Kiss me?”

He did. He pushed his lips back on the other’s with a smile plastered on his mouth, it was still there while his mouth opened and neatly filled every opening of the other’s mouth until they pulled back. Warm. They were breathing each other’s breath and he wasn’t entirely sure if their lips had even left each other, so close. “Tonight”

“What?”

“Well I told you that I’d tell you when I was ready and I’ll be ready tonight”  A smile bigger than that one was something he had never seen in his life. It stayed in place when he wiped his lips dry, pushed his hair down and left Jean’s touch. “C’mon you are standing in the way”

Jean just grinned at him and didn’t move “I fucking love you, you know that”

“yeah, babe, I love you too, now scram” Jean opened the door for him and quickly cleaned his own face. The smile would stay in place the rest of the evening. It was completely obvious and he dared to bet everyone noticed it. Every time he looked at Jean he was reminded of his own embarrassing words and blushed, some even said how cute it was that he looked at Jean like that, and that Jean was a really spontaneous guy. Ha, if only they knew that Jean was smiling because he knew he was getting some and that he was actually an introvert asshole. Well, not asshole but, yeah nevermind an asshole but then one that was actually rather charming and nice to some. To him, not to some because he was an asshole to everyone but him.

The thought made him smile. Jean was only like that for him.  Which meant no one else. Like him and only him.

Every time he said it his chest got a little bit opener and he was able to breath more, even though everything inside of that big space tingled.

Jean held his hand almost the whole time and sometimes they’d just sit and chat about the obvious things. The air had become a little bit heavier than it had been before but it wasn’t because of the other, it was because of his statement that was now seriously testing their patience. Jean seemed to be more pumped up than he was; kept doing completely unnecessary things like tapping his feet in some rhythm that didn’t match the music, or letting his hand slide through his ash locks even more often than he usually would (which is quite something because he does that a lot)

At the end of the evening everyone left, like they did every year, to go to a club and buy a lot of drinks for his mother who surprisingly enough could throw all those drinks back without many consequences. This was the only day of the year his mother left to be young again and he had never minded it. Today though, he was actually more than glad it was the case.

“Bye baby! Behave”

“Always do” he had answered, Jean’s snort kind of made the whole thing hard to believe and he kindly punched Jean on his shoulder to let him know. It didn’t work, Jean became even louder and as soon as the door shut closed, obnoxious.  The click of the door was like a click in their minds. Jean grinned and moved to sit down on his lap with a whole body full of confidence and cockiness. Which he, surprisingly enough, still had after the one embarrassing time he tried to get with him. He wasn’t complaining though. He was more than glad Jean hadn’t taken it as offensive and went of to kiss him and cockily move into his lap until he had a boner without any shame or doubts. Trust. Maybe it was because he trusted him on his words.

“Someone’s impatient” he mumbled softly against Jean’s lips.

“Are you talking about mini mister freckles or about me?”  He laughed wholeheartedly and studied Jean and his damn smirk carefully before even trying to answer that damn rhetorical question. He didn’t even want to, he just wanted to enjoy how damn good it was to laugh with someone before getting it on.

“I hope both”

“Right answer, you win the jackpot, prize is right in your bedroom”

He bit his lip and watched Jean eye him “I guess we should head there then”

Jean didn’t even reply before starting to walk, he was already pulling out his shirt while Marco mindlessly followed the guy he had seen topless so many damn times he didn’t know why it was even anything special this time. ‘Maybe because you want to suck his dick’ a tiny voice in his voice said, but he did a pretty proper job on ignoring it.

“C’m here” Jean mumbled while pulling him close and softly stroking his jawline with his nose, until he was at his ear and there he kissed and bit behind it softly. His soft spot and the asshole knew this all too well.  

“Jean..” he sounded kind of weak. He clenched his fist into Jean’s hair when Jean chuckled.

Then everything fell silent. Jean’s lips were still in place but were no longer moving. Jean was silent for a little while. “Marco you don’t want to go back again right?”

“No, I-”

They were ripped apart “I really fucking, I’ve waited pretty fucking long and I’d do it all over but I kind of fucking really-” The poor guy was rambling in panic.

“Jean.”  the other fell into silence “I want you too”  Jean swallowed, he didn’t seem very convinced, so he leaned in “Pretty bad actually” and kissed Jean’s tempel, his jaw, and then his mouth. He opened the other’s mouth softly and bit his trembling lip. His fingers traveled over Jean’s bare - lucky him- hips and quickly his mouth was to be found on the other’s nipples too. With him still dressed, Jean’s moan’s somehow held some disapproval yet he showed no sign of moving for now. Softly he tugged on his shirt until he finally cooperated and pulled out his own shirt, and then found Jean’s lips again.  Much to the other’s delight.

“Fuck fuck fuck”  Jean’s poetic mind once again blew his as Jean whined about how tight his jeans had gotten because of him. Jean clumsily undid his buttons and almost fell over his own jeans while taking them off. They both left this ignored because Jean didn’t seem to give a shit and his lips were already on him, he couldn’t really complain. He felt Jean’s hands on his belt while their mouths clumsily tried to keep connecting through all the breaths, wetness and getting undressed. It was harder than it seemed and also a lot more necessary than it seemed. Though as Jean’s mouth found his neck he realized that that too was very, very enjoyable.  “Jean you should- ah- hmm”

Jean snorted in satisfaction “I should”

For a while he didn’t answer. Talking while taking out your pants and having someone bite your neck is actually pretty hard but after a while he managed to mumble “Calm down”

“I’ll calm down when I’m not fucking turned on by you”

“Good to know that I’m going to have to knock you out for your own good some d-” Their lips crashed again and Jean gripped his hips so tightly it hurt a bit. He returned the act by gripping Jean’s and pushing their hips, and so their painful cocks, together. The huff that Jean gave gave him enough satisfaction to roll his hips another few time. Jean let his head fall onto the other’s shoulder and breather heavily. “Holyfucking fuck”

“Charming”

Jean ignored him and pulled on the waistband of his underwear. “You should lay down” and so he did, while Jean pulled his boxer down his legs and threw it on the floor somewhere they’d probably never find it again. He did the same for himself and then kissed him on the mouth, the bare skin of their cocks bumping against each other, which was new and weird to be sure. It also made the one he loved shiver above him and that was worth any kind of weirdness.

He turned so that he was on top of Jean, as Jean didn’t seem like he was going to be making more moves. He kissed and bit Jean’s nipples, earning a gasp and fisted Jean carefully but needingly. Because shit, he was trying his hardest to keep calm and remember he was Jean’s first guy.  “Jean can I-”

“Just fucking, do whatever”  Jean sounded like he was holding his breath, as if he was keeping begs and moans inside, which was quite a nice sound. So he did ‘whatever’. He kissed and bit down from Jean’s nipples to his hips. He bit and sucked Jean’s hipbone because it was one of the most beautiful spots on Jean’s whole holy body and he wanted to own it. Then needingly and most likely a lot too fast he moved further down.  

Jean’s hands pulled his hair. He stopped. “Marco-”

“I can’t?” damnit he hadn’t meant to sound so desperate but the dick of the person he loved was basically throbbing against his face.  “You said that-”

“No, I mean, yeah it’s fine I just, fuck I don’t know if I can handle this”

“Don’t worry” That was all he mumbled while softly kissing Jean’s tight before going to the real thing. Jean already whimpered. Maybe he was afraid, probably was, but Marco would show him that he loved and that he wanted. Mainly wanted because lust.. lust is quite a nagging emotion.

The sounds that came out of Jean when he first took him into his mouth were amazing. If he could have he would have recorded it and mastrubated to it every single time he got the chance. Maybe even every time he was feeling less confident because Jean was full of compliments. “Fuck Marco you are a- fuckk” A hand caught his hair and pulled it a little too hard, that was fine though, it was nice.  

His own cock had started throbbing uncontrolibly and he tried to touch it while working of Jean. Bobbing his head and hand up and down at the same time while focussing on Jean’s breathing. For a bit he pulled back and rubbed Jean’s button with his thumb, Jean whining uncontrollably before he took him back in his mouth and felt Jean leak. “Marco fuck I-”

He didn’t even have to try to ignore Jean as his body ached and shivered with excitement. He felt Jean leak some more in his mouth and this only made him try more. His own cock was fairly close too, now, his moans almost non existent because of a certain obstacle in his mouth.  “Marco I’m coming, I- Marco fuck, please” Not clear enough. He kept going and indeed, Jean’s loud exploded in his mouth and he let himself come at the same time, as they had both been holding back. Then he swallowed. To Jean’s horror and his own amusement. “Holyfuck Marco you can’t just fucking do that shit, what the-”  he wiped his shirt with his under arm and smirked at Jean with probably the most confident face he had ever shown. Jean’s mouth almost fell open. His eyes certainly did. He looked sweaty and wet but that was probably nothing compared to the way he looked.

“You were saying?”

“Holyfuck” he managed, though he was lacking originality there.

“That much I did hear” He stood up to get some toilet paper or an old sock or whatever was closest to them. Jean’s eyes were still strictly focussed on him.    
“You are fucking amazing, I thought you’d be shy and you have a lot of freckles on your ass what the fuck”  Jean let himself fall back on the bed but kept staring as he sat down on the bed next to him “I’m so glad you turned me gay, like, 800 percent worth it”

He laughed “That’s actually kind of comforting.” Jean chuckled and rolled over so that he was now lying against, or more like around, him. His face pushed against the freckled hip and kissing it softly.

For a while they just sat like that. Jean lying on him and him caressing the his hair and eventually Jean mumbled, very softly “Please sing me something”

“What?”

“Anything.. I love your voice and I want to hear it enough before others get the chance to hear it too”  

Marco smiled “We’ll make most of it until then”

“I know”  He breathed in very deep and watched Jean’s lips turn into a smile and he sang a first note very softly. It wasn’t even beautiful really but it was a beautiful moment. That was what Jean wanted too, he probably didn’t care much about clean singing and new songs but he enjoyed the mood that came with his soft humming. The snuggles spoke a thousand words, though when Marco had finished his song Jean felt the need to mumble “I don’t think I’ve ever loved someone before you”

Marco couldn’t answer that the way he wanted to and it hurt him. Still his answer meant as much to him “Thank you for giving me that love, Jean, you saved me from myself”

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's break and literally everything happens. It's a shitload of words.

Learning for their exams had been easier than Jean had thought it would be. Of course he knew Marco was a responsible but he hadn’t expected to be as affected by it as much as he was. They would sometimes sit for hours without saying a word, staring at their text books, listening to some stimulating instrumentals he knew nothing about, and touching each other in the most subtle ways just for the heck of not being apart.  Marco was not as good at literally learning things as he was. Marco was good at presentations or papers and such, but as soon as they got a test they’d have to learn for he’d slightly loose it. This time he seemed to have faith thought. He had taken a big marker and written ‘pressure is privilege’ on their arms just so that he wouldn’t forget about it. When Jean asked about it Marco answered with something along the lines of “I’m being pressured because of a privilege I already have. Education, the fact that I can go to Paris arts if I do this, the fact I have people I want to impress” and that did seem like a good reason. Failing would not be just failing exams to Marco, it would be losing insane chances.  

Those chances were kind of scary to him. They were better than all he would be able to offer in shitty America. Sure Paris wasn’t all romantic like the majority saw it but it sure was better than the hellhole they were in now. Europe was just.. more open minded. Fuck, people with blue hair weren’t even rare where there. He’d been to paris, he’d been to amsterdam, it was one big ‘forever young’ kiss festival and Marco deserved that shit. He’d go do what he deserved on his own though, that was what was shitty about it.

He had never felt so free. His mother was somehow more at ease with the idea of homosexuals since she had met Marco, and maybe it would get even better once they got to the evening Marco would eat at their place. His father surprisingly enough had never minded the idea and this alone made him respect his father a lot more. The view he had had of his father might have been hurried and unrealistic. His father wanted pride for the family and for him, sure, but what couldn’t be changed couldn’t be changed, and he didn’t see law as a lesser subject than business. Marco praised him a lot about the whole law thing, said that minds like him shouldn’t be hidden; they should be changing things. Those words could be said about Marco as well but he never really got them out in the confident way Marco could.

Small compliments and pep talks like those were probably the reason he studied better than any time before, and like that they were also the reason his score was way above average.  Their work paid off. Marco’s too. Their work was not to be left in the gutter. Their love was not to be left in the gutter. Their whole being was floating and for a while everything was fine. That’s an unique thing to think. What kind of damn teenager thinks that kind of thing? They should be whining and depressed or cocky about their results but nothing of that was to be felt. It was just fine, great, but he had no time to envy or envied, he had a boy to make out with until they were sore and a little bit swollen in multiple ways.

“We are going to get trashed!”  this was eventually the conclusion everyone (except from Marco, probably) had, despite of what kind of results they had gotten. In their group there was no one who had not managed to get a result they needed for their aspirations even though the differences were grande. Anyhow and anyway, this was apparently a great excuse for Ymir to hold a party in Historia’s empty house. He agreed mindlessly.

Now I don’t think you all understand that ‘get trashed’ is very subjective. When he said ‘trashed’ he meant drunk and probably making love to no one but Marco (and even that he could only hope, because all the way was close, but not where they were). When Reiner said ‘trashed’ he meant too many beers and getting drunk, he meant having a threesome with Annie or someone both Berthold and he didn’t know (yes, this happenned) and then he’d make a few jokes that were completely and absolutely wrong. Connie and Sasha were stoners, not drinkers, they’d smoke and eat and smoke and then maybe have a beer before eating even more.

But the word ‘trashed’ was at it’s top level when Ymir said this. Ymir was the ‘queen of parties and orgies’ as she’d like to call herself and no one even doubted it for a second. She was the kind of student that had an above average intelligence and still managed to be there longer than the rest. She had done drugs but she was very very hooked on not getting us hooked. “No coke, no pills, no paddo- well paddo’s are allowed. But ya’ll my babies and I’ll take all the drugs you try to take” were the words that came out of her mouth. We mentioned that she’d die if we all took drugs but that didn’t bother her all too much “then don’t” I quote.

“It’s my first party in a long time.. the last time was after a football game. I left early because I couldn’t stand being around them anymore”

“It’ll be fun, I can stay sober for you, we will just celebrate our success” he saw the corners of his lovers mouth curl up at the thought. He kissed them, because why wouldn’t he? He sure as hell could.  “You choose”

Marco laughed “I think I’m a terrible drunk, I have never not cried when drunk”

“You were at parties with Noah, watching him from afar. I believe most would cry without being drunk” He took the other’s hand in his softly and then kissed it  “It’s optimistic thinking but I think that’s not true. I think you are an horny drunk”

“You wish!”

“I certainly do” Marco laughed at him. The memories of his earlier high school years floating out of his mind again. That was enough for him. He didn’t mind the fact that Marco held those memories close, because he had little substitutes, but he was planning giving Marco a lot new ones before he left.

They decided to go looking overdressed. Now Marco was rarely overdressed but he was always well dressed. The whole hoody issue he had was no problem for his lover and suit shirts were his favourites. Now they were both wearing a nice blouse, He wore a white one, and Marco a lovely shade somewhere in between dark red and brown. It was warm and fit him. He looked smart and unique.  “Oh I wish we didn’t have to go and that I could make out with you all day” but they had to get drunk. Oh no.

Somehow they ended up in Historia’s house. Music was loud and he knew Marco had a hard time dancing on what Marco called ‘white boy music from the twenty ten’. With white boy he didn’t mean people who were white, he meant drunk and offensive sexists who could dance of shitty music with their first bumping the air. I agreed on both the term and how terrible it was. That didn’t matter right now though. We already hear Ymir screaming something about wanting ‘nasty fucking hiphop’ and besides; we were together. With him I’d dance on fuckboy music for as long as needed. He’d make an art out of it, I was sure.

“Give my boys some beer!” I heard from a corner. This was Ymir, who had finally made their way to the hallway. Someone pushed some shitty beer into our hands and then was gone within a second, Ymir smiling brightly at how she had the party in the palm of her hands.

“Fuck yeah” she mouthed to us before heading out again.

I took the beer out of Marco’s hand and placed my arm around him while walking in. Connie and Sasha were smoking on the couch, an unhealthy amount of ‘bro’ coming from their side of the room. Connie lying flat on Sasha’s lap while they shared their chips and their blunt. There were lots of people I didn’t know. Apparently Ymir had the biggest group without us ever noticing it.  

Marco sat and he went into the kitchen to take a wine class for Marco. He wasn’t going to make his drink shitty beer while there was no need for him to lose his persona. Let all the other people stand with their cheap damn cups. These were people even Ymir barely knew, they deserved a lesser cup.

Give him a lot to drink. Drink a lot of beer myself. Music changed to 2000’th classics and some ‘dirty’ hiphop and this was a reason for everyone to start dancing. Marco too, was bad at standing still. Even though this was far from surprising, all the dancing he had ever seen Marco do was dancing with lots of emotion and technique. Now he realized that the way Marco was used to using his hips made him the most attractive dancer in the entire room even for the straight guys. Who the hell had thought that those hips were not just good for some Modern Jazz.  

Eren was the only one he knew who was standing against the wall with him. Lots of other boys were there too. “Jean, Marco’s going at it”

“I know, I’m watching him”

“You are basically eye fucking him”

“Fuck off, I see him dance all the time, I am used to it”

Eren snorted uglily “Yeah but they’re not” He pointed at literally everyone in the room and maybe he wasn’t even exaggerating. Marco was known for his amazing talent for turning fuck boys a little more gay and artistic.  “Dance with him, he won’t mind that you suck”

“Bastard, fuck this, fuck you, I’m going” What Eren had said was true, standing away from Marco while Marco let his body go to music was useless. He’d rather let his body grind against the others back with his mouth against his ear. So he did. Marco appeared startled at first, but a kind “Hey beautiful Bodt butt babe”

Marco was out of breath. He had to calm his dick. “Hey Jeannn” drunk. His lover was drunk, or tipsy at least. A hand touched his face and pulled him closer. Hips grinded against him. “I was getting kind of lonely, I love dancing with you”

“We usually dance classic”

“As long as I’ve got your body and music” Marco yelled, lips against his cheek. This made him gain more confidence. Marco was allowed to have fun in moments like these too. They were both lusting after a touch, not just him. No one would do as much for Marco.

Marco turned around, hands on his hips, a mouth open and out of breath while he moved his hips. It was beautiful somehow. They both didn’t like the music. They didn’t know anyone in the room. He smelled like shitty beer and Marco had an half empty class of deep red wine in his other hand. Fuck, they even smelled like sweat in their nice shirts. The lights hurt his eye and they could barely hear each other over the music. “I have never felt like this”

He couldn’t care less about everyone in the room anymore. His whole fucking family might as well have been watching; he just didn’t care. He just wanted to dance abnormally close to his man. Watch other people dance, then kiss. Hold back on making out against a wall.

It was around three when Ymir started kicking people out. The love making would have to go on in different houses and on the streets, she wanted them out. They could stay though. She said they could stay as long as they wanted as long as they ‘cleaned our own shit, didn’t cum on shit she had to eat from and didn’t hit on Historia like those other bitch boys had been doing.’ Ymir had indeed punched and kicked out quite some people because they had tried flirting with her girlfriend. It was a thing everyone who knew Ymir had learned not to do, no matter how hard it sometimes got. But the fact they could stay and that she trusted them with her girlfriend was enough. Ymir cared.

A game of never have I ever had filled the entire room, and even though all of them would deny loving the game due to their almost complete matureness, they all loved it and alcohol did nothing to hide it more  “Never have I ever sucked a dick!” Ymir screamed.

Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, Armin, Annie, Sasha and him all raised their glasses. “Amen to that!” he yelled, people laughed while he bumped into a blushing Marco. “You guys ain’t even seen half good, you all haven’t seen shit! His blowjob’s are from heaven!”

“Jean..”

“It’s true?”

People were laughing while they saw Armin sneak away silently. Yeah. Something was up with that. “Armin.. why did you-”

Eren popped up out of nowhere “None of your business and I am now taking drunk Armin away from this game”

Everyone sat in silence for a while. Progressing what had just happened. No one really seemed all too bothered. Our group of friends was not all too close but the duo’s and threesomes in it were. Annie and Reiner were probably both drinking about Reiner’s dick and well.. we all knew what Marco and he were drinking for.  

“Never have I ever cheated!” Sasha screamed, loudly. Connie high fived her as if this was quite the achievement, even though Sasha had never seriously been with another guy. Was she even with connie?

Right there and then no one drank, but Marco. It was a shivering and stupid sip. He shouldn’t have, he was not obligated to do anything. “MARCO! MY INNOCENT BABY BROTHER! NO!”

Marco awkwardly looked down. “Ymir shut the fuck up!” I howled “It was my fault, I kissed him when he was still doin’ the dicktwat”

“If he pulled back or punch you it doesn’t count”

“I didn’t, obviously” Marco mumbled softly.

Now Eren was back, Armin under his arm “When I told Jean to beat up Noah not literally but by lovin’ Marco better!”

“Before that!”

“Oh that’s right! Ain’t that all worked out John!?” That drunk bastard was right.

He chuckled into his lover's hair “A choice with no regrets, perhaps?”

For the first time since his sip Marco smiled. “Yeah”

Most of their friends were now laying together in the living room. One couch had Berthold and Reiner lying against each other, Annie on top of them, her icecold glare was not on her face for once, which was wonderful, somehow. Connie and Sasha were laying in a chair, both of their eyes closed and a the promised last blunt switching between their lips (and Ymir’s when she yelled for another breath).  Connie and Sasha basically breath into each other’s mouth about how happy they were that they could finally live together now, and not let their time get wasted by people they weren’t planning on staying with anyway. He wished he could say the same about him and Marco. Marco was sitting between his legs. His head sometimes fell back and he now had a class of water instead of the wine he had drunk the entire evening. He mumbled sweet things. Marco was not the horny drunk, nor was he the crying drunk. He was simply the honest drunk, and this was a beautiful realisation, specially after his earlier fears.

When they walked home the sun was rising. The sky was all kinds of beautiful reds and pinks and they held hands without anyone shouting or staring at them. Both of their drunk heads had been replaced by a basic level of sanity and an incredible headache, still the road to Marco’s home wasn’t too long. Close to each other the way their eyes sometimes fell closed didn’t feel dangerous.  

Everything was loud. The door was loud. The hot tea Marco made because he’d have stomach aches if he went to sleep early in the morning without it was made loudly and even the whispers Marco gave him seemed to loudly take over his entire being.

“Before tonight parties would always be a chance for me to go after dumb girls”  he whispered while Marco sipped his tea. They were sitting way too close to each other and everything they told each other went without a reaction. This didn’t feel all too unnatural.

Eventually they fell asleep lying close to each other, like they always did. Only now the bed was so big. It was just them laying in a one person space, while they could lie in one for three. Because they wanted to, because they liked each other’s breath and because Marco’s leg hair felt nice between his toes. His feet were a little sweaty though, and his bare back was hot with Marco’s hands on it. The smell of the beer that was spilled over his white shirt began filling Marco’s room. Yet he could only focus on how slow Marco breathed. By the time he had breath two times Marco could only breath ones. A strong breath in through his nose, and then a soft one out of both his nose and mouth. Maybe it was because he had fallen asleep already, but it was the best meditation.

 

The morning, or shall I say early midday, was bittersweet. Marco was in a better mood than he was - no surprise there - but he did manage to open his eyes and sit up. Marco was already gone when he did. He heard water falling and realized that Marco was probably taking a shower. Even though his head was demanding for him to lay down, his stomach was telling him to go eat and his mind to get coffee; they were stronger. In his sweatpants only he walked through the empty house only to find Marco in the kitchen. “Oh, I was just about to wake you.. care for breakfast in bath?” His lover kept his voice hushed, because he knew any sound would make the headache worse.

He had made some pancakes with bacon on them and some coffee. This was exactly what he needed. “Yeah.. thanks”

Their bath was rather big, and Marco liked his water very hot and his foam high. This was probably at his advantage because he did not want a headache and an unanswered awkward boner.  Letting himself fall into the water like a moan or sigh dragging all the dirt and headache from the last night out of him. Only the memoir was left now.  Marco climbed in with him, their legs between each other’s and stroking the other’s hairy legs with a soft smile. Marco carefully handed him his coffee and he noticed Marco was humming a stupid pop song they had probably listened to the day before. “s’ coffee good?”

“The best”

Marco’s smiled with half closed eyes “Secret ingredient is love”

“I’ll remember”

Marco moved so that he was sitting closer to him. He kissed his back softly and snuggled into his neck, this was one of his favourite things to do. Specially when he had coffee in his other hand.  

Marco ate some pancakes and hummed on. The light in the bathroom was dimmed, Marco had lit some candles that seemed to have their own place in the bathroom. This was not very surprising because both of the house owners were helplessly romantic and obsessed with moods. It was also great for his eyes and headache.   
“and the pancakes?”

“They look kind of ugly” Marco snorted. “but you’ll compromise that”

“Oh my god what are you babbling, the alcohol killed your assholeness”

He chuckled “Sorry, I forgot you like asshole-ish french guys”

“That was an excuse to like you” They both smiled like dorks and kissed whatever was close. Shoulders, cheeks, hands and mouths. Only the hot water between their body. Their easy breaths, sips of warm beverages and the water the only sound to be heard now. It was only the first day of their vacation, but he wished the vacation would never end. Fuck law, fuck art. fuck France, and fuck the whole god damn future with a knife in it’s butthole.

* * *

 

They switched between houses. The majority was spent at Marco’s and some days at his. Now his parents weren’t easy on Marco, but they weren’t plain rude either. They weren’t being homophobic, actually, they acted as if he was their daughter. The first time he met his father was more than fucking terrifying. Even he didn’t see his father often and now they suddenly both had to go see him. His father had been pretty hung up on meeting Marco (even more than his mother). He had always seen his father as the big bad homophobic guy but he had never bothered with proofs. Now the proof was right in front of his eyes and it was saying a lot of different things. It was confusing, it was scary to have all he had even believed in break down, but it was amazingly good too.

“Hello son,” His father had said when they walked in. He patted his shoulder and shook Marco’s hand sternly. Marco managed to not shiver before taking it, which was an amazing achievement.

You see, his father was not just an ordinary man. His father held confidence that you rarely see. His father had a business, his father had money, his father had the right to command, the privilege never to be commanded and he knew it. His chin was always high, his jaw was clenched and his eyes stood daring. Without knowing it his father was always daring people to do whatever he wanted (or not) and they would always play into his hand. This was a scary thing, but he felt slightly reassured after his showdown with Noah. To have a powerful man like that on your side (after thinking he was on the other for so long).

“Marco bodt, nice to meet you sir”

“Likewise, I was really starting to wonder if I was going see the reason Jean never sleeps at home anymore”  

“I’m sorry, sir, I-”

“Don’t be. Jean is taking a walk of shame, not you”  he couldn’t help but grin. Because he didn’t care much. He didn’t care at all, actually.

Marco and he awkwardly sat down on the couch. His mother had taken out wine, cheese, some sausage and all that french kind of shit. She did that often. That was her way of making herself believe that she loved life. It was her way of enjoying sophisticatedness. It was as if every piece of cheese she ate draped the words ‘we got here ourselves’ into her. “What are you going to study, Marco?” His father asked, wine in his hand and his eyes pressuring.

He silently and casually took Marco’s hand. His parents saw, they didn’t mention it. “Actually I’m going to France..” a nod, a smile  “To study arts.”

“You think you will make a living out of that?”

Marco straightened up. He had heard this question. Everywhere. Every second of his day. In his own mind and in his dream. This was his main question.  “I don’t know, sir, but I am going to put my all in it and I think I have a chance”

His father laughed. Jean knew his father liked that kind of attitude. “That kind of thinking, son, is what had gotten us rich. I started from nothing and look where hard work gets you.” Marco smiled brightly and squeezed my hand. “Still, in case that doesn’t work for you, I will make sure to push Jean when he is studying law”

That was it. The acknowledgement. His father didn’t bother to tell them that he didn’t mind homosexuals, or that he loved him no matter what. His father was nothing like that. He just wanted someone to work hard.  “Thank you!”

After that his father was gone most of the time. His mother still bothered to come eat with the both of them from time to time, but she was more awkward than his father. Because she, unlike his father, had been homophobic to him before.  

The guest room was far from being used. At first they had pretended to use it but as soon as they knew his parents knew they had been sleeping together all the damn time they started sleeping in one bed again. Cuddled in his white bed, in his empty room.

Eventually Marco got annoyed by it. He printed all the pictures they had together, he searched for poems written about their love and their struggles, he looked for drawings and eventually put all of them in black neat frames. They spend an entire day decorating their room so that it was still neat and modern, but held a story. This was something that Marco was good in; giving things a story. Like Marco gave him a story. What really was his story before Marco? Moody guy who doesn’t believe in love drank eight cups of coffee and then did an okay job on his economics exam while literally all his friends were having gay sex? Probably.

The story he had now so much more, and so takes longer to explain. It was.. a lot of freetime with weight of responsibility fallen of your shoulder because the future looks bright. Spencing that time with your first real love. It was dancing, coffee, wine, beer, Marco, talking until midnight, meeting friends for useless drinking and screaming until night time, Marco, cuddles, Marco.  

 

He wished it would never end, and he wished that he could feel Marco’s lips on him after summer break. He wished that Marco didn’t count the weeks until he had to go to france. Because when Marco had first told him that it was another “Six weeks” he had thought that that was ages away, yet when Marco mumbled a carefull “One more week” he had panicked and wondered where the time had gone. He had looked into Marco’s eyes and asked him if he was kidding. Marco wasn’t. It was only one more week and he’d leave.

He had pushed his lips onto Marco’s as if this was the only reaction he was ready to give. He had kissed him for way too long and when they pulled back he had looked down and whispered “Fucking hell”

Quickly Marco was lying on the bed, half of their clothes on the floor. His lips slid over Marco’s collarbone and bit it softly. His hand caressing the other’s hips. “Jean.. what the hell?” Marco had laughed while he gave soft kisses on the other’s Jaw.

“Not wasting any time”

“Few minutes don’t matter, isn’t like we can have sex an entire week”

He looked up at his lover, smirked “Watch me”

Marco pulled him down while half laughing, their smiling mouths on top of each other and a barely hearable “I can’t believe you” mumbled onto them, breaths mixing.

He grinded his hips against Marco’s, the lights were already fucking dimmed, everyone was gone, there wasn’t a reason for him to wait a second. No part of him wanted to wait, to be teased. Marco would only be here for what seemed like seconds.  “Impatient” Marco moaned softly.

“I won’t be having sex for a year, let me”

“mastrubation?”

He laughed sarcastically “First you give me the best and then you expect me to come at something lesser”

Marco - who had found the lube by now- turned him around smoothly and whispered “I think you’re pretty great actually”

“Fuck off and fuck me” He could feel Marco’s lips turn into a smile on his back. Marco’s hard on was bumping against his leg and his fingers were teasing between his butt cheeks. One hand grabbing it tightly and the other moving between carefully but skilled.  

“your word is law”   He was too far into plesure to answer Marco now, his lover widened his fingers, bend his fingers and made small rounds. He could only curse like always. He didn’t really care. Marco gave him no time to be embarrassed, the only thing he could do when Marco was not on him was wishing he was. He couldn’t even be upset about where Marco had gotten his skills, he was just really glad Marco had them.  “You okay?”

“why the fuck you asking, your dick his half in me-”

Marco snorted “It’s only grinding against it”

“Well then that’s the fucking problem”  Marco huffed sweetly and then he felt Marco come inside a little bit. Not more than that, Marco was big and he would be thankful Marco had so much restrained every time they were finished. But at the moment it was the worst thing. He wanted Marco. He wanted Marco everywhere, on him, against him and now mainly inside of him.  “ah- fuck Marco, just go all-  ah shit” Marco listened without him finishing. Too quickly but that only made it better. One of Marco’s hands was in his mouth and his bit ir rougly, got it wett and moaned onto it. Then Marco pushed forward again, let his completely red andc wett hand slide down and pulled on his neck. He moaned into the terribly empty feeling space. Marco’s hands moved with every time be pushed into him deeply. He gripped him tightly and eventually his love did what he loved most;  he bowed until his back was lying on his and his teeth into his back. “hm, Jean, I love you so fucking much”

He loved it when Marco talked like that. To anyone he would appear calm but Marco only cursed when possessed by lust. Only when they were connected like they were would Marco curse. Curses and more painful things. Miss you. Need you. Love you. Hate you. Everything among those lines he could blutter out while they were connected. He himself wasn’t as intellectual when he had Marco sliding his dick in him, he could curse and moan Marco’s name. That was fine though. Out of all the words, fuck and Marco were the ones he’d choose. Out of all situations, sex with Marco was the one he would choose.  “Shit.. love you” This was the best reply he could manage. It was enough though. Marco gripped his dick and pulled it roughly, while pushing into him softly. This was it. Marco was shivering at his length. Marco was gripping tighter. Marco was coming. “Ahh”  He breath lustful with his last bit. Cumming. If only could come that beautiful. He whined and cried an attractive and weak “fuck” as if the word could compromise.

Marco didn’t move. He laid on top of him for a bit. Breathing in and out very deeply. “You okay?” he whispered sweetly.

“Mentally or physically?” Marco got off him, took the condom off and then stared. “Marco I’m fucking great, don’t worry. Throw that fucking shit away, give me three seconds and we’ll go at it again”

Marco grinned brightly, “As if! I need to change the sheets now, by the way”

“Just get some goddamn paper and come watch some netflix with me”

He watched Marco disappear into his bathroom and yell something along the lines of “You’re disgusting” before coming back with paper and then diving back into the bed with him. Kiss him with a thousand tiny little kisses. His neck, his back, his mouth, nose and ear. He just laughed and yelled things like “stop you fucking cheese fuck”  but Marco ignored his lies and just kept kissing him sweetly.

Until Marco’s phone rang. Both of their faces turned and Marco stood up to look at who was calling. He mentally thanked whoever for not calling while they were having sex. “Noah”  It sounded like word vomit. Marco seemed to be choking. His face turned pale. He was panicking and it hurt.

“What the fuck does he want.” He quickly searched for some underwear to put on and then walked up to where Marco was now standing. “Take it”

“Jean-”

“It’s fine. Just don’t start walking”  And it was true. He trusted Marco more than anyone even if he was fucking terrified of the past. Except it; the past is one of the scariest things there it.  But Marco visually put his phone on speaker. He wanted Jean to trust him this time, not like the last time they almost got together and Noah called to ruin it.

 _“Marco?”_  Noah’s voice galmed through the room. Marco gave a small certifying word. _“Hey.. I just.. I wanted to call you”_

“Oh really now?”  Marco took his hand and let his body fall against his. He kept still. He’d respect them, which was a mature and new thought for him.

_“Yeah.. I heard that you got into an art school in Paris. Congratulations”_

It took Marco a while to answer “Thank you”

_“I wanted to apologize.. for how I treated you. I mean, what you did was seriously fucked up, but I didn’t treat you right either”_

“That’s true.. It’s not your fault but it’s not what I deserve anymore” Jean smiled and kissed his neck without a sound “I also apologize for Jean, during dinner”

“Oh fuck off, he broke my nose”

“it healed, you crybaby”

 _“I-Is he there?”_ Marco hummed an yes _“Are you two still together? Are you two really together? I thought he was lying to mess with me but-”_

“Yes we are Noah. You should learn from it, Jean is from the same environment as you, you know”

Noah snorted on the other side _“I have a girlfriend now.. I mean, she’d nice and for now I can pretend”_ Marco closed his eyes as if the words hurt him _“I’m glad he’s treating you right”_ Noah’s voice broke _“I wanted to say I miss you but I now realize that’s meaningless”_

“Of course it means something, it just doesn’t change anything” The silence on the other side took too long. It actually made him feel a little bad for the other guy.  “Noah, please don’t call me again, you will only hurt yourself”

_“I know..”_

“I’m hanging up. Try not to fight with Jean when I’m in france. Keep fighting for who you are”

_“Yeah.. bye Marco”_

“He is hanging up now.. Noah” He mumbled.

 _“Kirschtein_ ” Noah replied, and with that Marco closed the conversation.

The room went silent. For a bit. Marco had tears in his eyes and they got bigger with every moment of silence. Jean didn’t mind. The guy had been a big part of his life and the ending they had had was not only horrid but also quite unofficial. Marco swallowed heavily and draped his arms around him more tightly. As if he had to hold him up. “that was the worst moment he could have called” he tried to joke. Marco ignored it.

Their warm bodies just kept still against each other and he heard how Marco tried to calm his breath. “I’m just so glad you pulled me out of that place, Jean”

“It was my pleasure”

“He was even being reasonable but fuck.. He reminded me that I once thought being in love had to come with a load of pain.” Marco pulled back and looked into his eyes sternly “He had to remind me Jean. Which means you made me forget”

He didn’t know how to reply. He couldn’t pull it off with a joke or cocky comment. So he kissed the other. A deep and loving kiss that held more than anything else he had. It didn’t feel like enough. Marco deserved everything he had. He whispered a very, very soft and embarrassing “I’m doing nothing but loving you”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked that. This wasn't the last chapter. There will be two (or three) more!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris College of Arts

What is there to say about Paris? It was less than he had expected. Then again it was more than he had expected. It was a little colder than he had expected. The people weren’t all dressed all nice but God, was it charming. There was a lot that was far from beautiful or even romantic but everything had it’s charm. The way the people kept their head up high, rushed and gossiped, in loud spitting French, was lovely, even though it was far from what was the right and nice way to act. The fact that you can get freshly baked baguettes in every single street. In cafe’s, at the gas station, in the middle of nowhere, everywhere. But whatever it was he was intrigued with, the people, the food, the look; it reminded him of Jean. He didn’t know if it reminded him of Jean because it intrigued him, or if it intrigued him because it reminded him of Jean.

With everything he saw he noted that he had to remember it to tell Jean about it later on, or to ask him about what it was. The fact that Jean wasn’t next to him the exact second he wanted to speech about something completely random was kind of hard to get used to still. He felt his words gather somewhere deep inside of him and his hands felt empty now that he could not just touch Jean, or anyone actually.

His room was just fine, it was quite small, especially compared to what it costed. He held endless love for his mother for supporting him in this dream. It was a lot of money, and he knew he was insanely lucky that his mother- artist and single- was capable.  He had already flinched every single time he saw the way Euro’s stood compared to dollars and it was not getting any better while he started paying things in Paris. It wasn’t important now, he knew his mum wouldn’t want him thinking about it either.

What was important was his one person room. The fact that there was no second, messier and most of the time unused, bed standing next to it. It didn’t feel like home, not yet, maybe it would never, maybe it would soon. When he’d have friends, who’d stay over. Or when he’d have skype conversation with his lover until deep in the night.

He took a walk through the part of the city he was staying in. He didn’t know where he was going, maybe and mainly, because he wasn’t trying to find the eiffel tower or whatever other touristic attraction he could be looking for. Eventually he ended up in a coffee shop; which was thee thing he was looking for;  bought some macarons and moccachino and sat down in the busy but sun lit street. He held his phone in his hand the whole time; wondering if he could call Jean yet. Eventually he decided it wasn’t the right time (mainly because it was night at home) and spend his time with a full mind, a paper and pencil, words and songs for his own french love. For all he couldn’t say.

This would be one of his new and major art styles. Call it missing Jean. Call it the melancholic melody of France. Call it words that could not be spoken. Call it what you will.

The skype conversation they did have, when day passed, was long, happy and somewhat intense. “Just had some pasta, the drinks were expensive and the people rude but God, the quality was totally worth it”

Jean’s bedhead and stupid smile made him shiver inside. All the questions and lust ran through him. A small touch of the fingertips would have been enough that second. “Stop making me hungry, I haven’t even had breakfast”

“So lazy” He took a more comfortable position on his empty bed with wine coloured sheets, in his empty white room “I have been awake for ages”

Jean grinned “Yeah sure, with an eight hour time difference, you dicktwat”  

They fell into a silence. The smiled they had had slowly fell into a resting and loving look. He bit his lips. Jean looked handsome really. Broken and tired. “I want to touch you” the other went with, eventually.  

“It has only been a day” That was no excuse. He felt the same.  It was terrible. He had all of Paris and he just wanted Jean.

“I always want that. Every day. Wherever. Whenever.”

He looked away, to his window “I want to touch you as well” Back to Jean. Shyly but fast enough to see Jean pout (yes actually pout) “but at least we have got these calls”  Jean seemed far from amused by this only positive side. “I’ll show you my room alright?”  He walked through the room with his laptop in his hands, the room was empty and far from interesting. He shared a boring kitchen and he had no furniture yet. The thing he liked most though; and the thing he excitedly showed Jean, was his street, even if it was nothing special. “It’s Paris!” he said as he held his laptop tightly while is balanced on his windowpane. “Say hi to your people”

“Marco that’s disgusting, I fucking hate anything French, you are literally the only good thing in France right now”  He awkwardly laughed at Jean’s frown. He took the compliment, even if he wanted to fight Jean on the beauty of a city, Jean must have known.

Those lovely calls he enjoyed most became harder to make as work gained.  The time difference was a dangerous thing they had both failed to notice before. They had complained about the distance, they had complained about a lot, but the time difference had been forgotten.

His first morning started at 9. Jean was still awake because he started university a week later. He called Jean while eating his breakfast, his soft jazz playlist playing the the background and his coffee losing steam until ready.

“Hey, I was waiting for you to call.” Jean mumbled sleepily “You look handsome.”

“You look sleepy”

Jean laughed sweetly “I’m making sure that I have bags under my eyes so that not all the girls will fall for me on the first day. Obviously, you did not think of this, as you look super handsome”

“I’m gay, Jean”

“Potato, potatoe”

“I’m taken”

“Now that’s what I like to hear”  Jean chuckled as he took a bite of croissant.  “You are going to hate those croissant in a few weeks”

He started checking some files “I will never,”  walking away to take his stuff while yelling “you just grow tired of things easily!”

“Not of you”

“Oh thank god, you cheese”

“You leaving?”

He quickly slipped back to his laptop and leaned over his bed “Yeah, sorry Sugar, I don’t know how it will all go so I’m leaving a little early, tomorrow we can chat longer”

“Oh alright” When Marco took his computer to turn it off Jean’s face was both pained and caring. It hit him deep. Deep enough to be steady but not deep enough to be hidden. He would remember that look a lot. “Have fun, I love you, my Ray”

He laughed, but it was soft “I love you too,”

 

His first day was, to say the least, amazing. Everyone was lovely and everyone was unique. It was one of the first times he really felt normal compared to the rest. Then again, small city people always have that when close to world city ones. He didn’t feel out of place, his classic but basic look had always been there and he had learned to be confident about it all, specially because his freckles coloured him uniquely.  

Walking out of his first and only lecture, which was mainly his mentor explaining things and then letting them leave as fast as possible, a guy from his class walked next to him. “Hey,  Marco isn’t it? Name’s Jack”

“Hey, yeah, nice to meet you,” He shook his hand, to his delight because Jean had mention that the whole kissing cheek thing indeed did happen, specially in the bigger cities in europe. Two kisses in Paris, on kiss in Amsterdam and three in the rest. “Jack..”

“Easier to remember my whole being if you know Jack Kerouac, basically him with Ginsberg's homosexuality”

He laughed, truly, genuine. “A modern classics fan I see”

Jack nodded “True indeed, and I righteously passed you as one too” A short silence which he spend smiling kindly “So you want to go for some lunch?” He nodded. Calling Jean would have to wait a little bit, if he’d miss out of making friends the first week he’d be a goner for the rest of the year.

It was nice though. It was better than being lonely. It got his mind away from it all; from Jean.  Jack was from the french part of belgium, but considered himself more of an English speaking dutchman, because he didn’t like the French and had spend his whole life on international schools. Jack seemed like a complicated person, he could imagine people having a rough time hanging out with him. He was cocky, rough and a little bit too honest. He didn’t mind that all too much. He knew how to hang out with guys like that. And he caught himself. He caught himself hundreds of times, talking about Jean, telling Jack about something Jean did too. Maybe that was inappropriate, but Jack didn’t particularly seem to mind.

They had some sweet coffee and talked for quite a while. He would have a friend in Jack, he realised there and then. He didn’t have to miss out on someone hating on French citizens, on food, on beer, on shity music, he didn’t have to miss out on all the things he would miss from Jean.

Back home Jean called him, this was around nine o'clock for him and Jean was just having a late breakfast,  and he felt nervous. There really was no reason too but he felt nervous for telling Jean all that was going on in France. Because it was amazing. It was truly lovely and he felt so damn guilty for enjoying it all without Jean. His dream, and yet Jean was on his mind.

“So I ate lunch with this guy today, Jack, he’s nice really”

Jean raised his eyebrow and smirked cockily “Did you tell him all about your super handsome boyfriend?”

“Of course” he rolled his eyes.

“No but seriously Marco” his heart skipped a beat, he looked up, he had no reason “You are not pretending to be straight again right? You have told him that-”

“Jean. No. Jean of course not. That time was different; I was young, I had Noah, I was stupid.”

“Good”

“I won’t get back to that place”

But he was honoured. Jean wasn’t jealous, nor was he angry. He was worried and caring. Jean wanted him to be himself. He wanted him to love himself even more than Jean loved him. He knew, and this is quite a rough thing to accept, Jean was more fond of him than he was of himself. Love you, love me, love you, love me, it was a neverending flower and so he would never realise which Jean thought more, hell, he would never realise what he thought more.

Come back.

That was what they both thought most, he realised later on. Weeks into their school. Jean busy and even more grumpy. Hell for all he knew Jean truly hated the new school, he got little information about it. Jean liked listening but he didn’t bother talking about his education or new friends. It had him worried, quite a lot. Somehow the idea that Jean really didn’t like his school didn’t seem real to him. Jean had trouble with someone. With the days they spoke less and less, the idea that the other had met another but was trying to stay true became more and more realistic, even if it wasn’t.

That wasn’t necessarily the way, it was the time difference that made them senseless. The time difference, to say the least, was more dangerous than they had expected. It would have been fine for a vacation or so but with their insanely busy lives the conversations were often short and full of whines. Jean cut him off more than he used to, most of the time with thousands of compliments. He meant the compliments. He knew that and still his mind ran free.

How could the security of one's loyalty make one feel so insecure?

Every day he’d wake up around half past six. His coffee steaming and his bread slightly warm, even though the days were getting colder and shorter. Against knowing better he’d check if Jean was online, but he rarely was. He’d reread his scripts or songs just to make sure he remembered them; he always did. He was lucky with all the opportunities he had to practice his art. Every second he got the chance he took it, Jack did the same.

The Autumn semester was almost over and they were working on their project together. Their group was pretty great, the hours after and inbetween lessons were amazing. Everyone was unique, the mood was right. These people were serious about what they wanted to do. As a child and teenacher he had had lessons in every thing, in every group, but no one took it seriously. When he would try to get things right they’d laugh, he was never really one to command or get mad, so he let them be. Now he didn’t have to put too much power behind it, because everyone had the same dreams. The days in the studio’s were loud and swinging. They would converse about what they would do with some tea, coffee or that radler beer one girl in his group was insanely obsessed with. Three girls, Jack and him. The group was great, really. This was what he saw his life as, before he met Jean, and it was what he wanted, even with Jean. But he wanted Jean. It was stupid really.

After practice, Jack and him would get some coffee or wine, for tea was not strong enough for their beat but confident and beautiful bodies. “Can I meet him?” Jack had asked one time, mid-november. Not because he really felt like meeting Jean. No. Because he didn’t believe in Jean. He believed Jean existed but he knew how little they talked. The stories and words about his lover had gotten less with the week. Now they were almost gone.

“I don’t know if he has time”

“He should have time for you. Make time.”

He sipped his coffee, but it tasted bitter. It wasn’t that Jack was wrong, or that he meant harm, but the words were so goddamn true. They were true and right and trust is so hard to keep when you don’t keep in touch.  “No. He’s studying law. He.. he’s busy”

“You should hear your fucking self. You are being held back. Artistically too. You could be great but you are waiting like a woman in the 40’s”

“I have been held back, artistically, and believe me this is not it, Jack.”

He sternly looked at me. Bit his lip and let his hand go through his hair. Nuancing his thoughts for he didn’t want to anger me. He wanted to say what he had to though; Jack was rarely subtle.  “I don’t see how you can accept this for yourself”

“I know what it was like without Jean”

“You don’t know what it’s like with me”

A silence. Jack didn’t seem shocked by his own words the way he should be. “Is that what you are thinking? Really? Is that what you want?”

“No. Marco, that’s not what it’s after, but I think you need an artistic influence”

“This is fine. Let me be trustworthy, Jack, I love him”

And that was it. That was the way he talked about Jean, still. He wanted to be for Jean what the other was for him. But it had him insecure. It had him calling Jean in the middle of the night. My mind was so full of him. Insanely full of him and that hurt, it hurt so damn much. Nothing had even gone wrong.

΅Marco, hey, why are you calling like this? It’s insanely expensive”

He swallowed “I know”

“Wait, isn’t it like, four am there?”

“Yeah.. Figured you’d be home around dinner time”

Silence hit the other side his phone. His too. He could hear Jean shift, stop whatever he was doing. Thinking. “Are you alright?”

“When was the last time we spoke?”

“like.. three, no maybe four- shit Marco, love, I’m sorry. You are busy. I am busy. And this time difference is driving me nuts. I don’t mean to-”

“It’s okay. Jean. I just wish you could come home to me”

“I will, love, I don’t know when, yet” - why hadn’t he made any plans? - “but I want to. I really do”

“The nineteenth and twentieth we have a performance. I know you have a vacation after. I do too. Stay with me then.”

Jean fell into silence for a second “I wish but it’s expensive”

“Jean. We can pay together, maybe, you can stay with me, or your gran-”

“Marco, I don’t know if it’s possible”

“I don’t know if you even care to try”

“What the fuck. Of course I do. Why do you not trust me after not seeing me for a month or two”

He stood up and started pacing through the room. He was never very rational at 4 am, his emotions led him more with every hour that had passed midnight. “Three months, Jean.”  he swallowed “I want you to call me tomorrow, and the day after that. Love. I want to see you the nineteenth.”

“Marco”

“I’m hanging up”

“Marco seriously-” And he did. He just did hung up. He was shivering and only now thinking about what he had said. And what he had said was stupid. Jean had trusted him with his own emotions and love, and he couldn’t handle distance because he was that weak.

When he woke up he didn’t eat all too much. That was fine though. His insides were full with something along the lines of regret and hope; he had never thought those two things could go hand in hand either.

Jack knew when he saw him. Right away. “He’s going to come, with the end of the season performance.” He stated.

“You fought with him?” That indeed was a logical conclusion; if you looked at his face for a few seconds.

“No” He sat down on the cold chair next to Jack “I commanded and didn’t give him time to reply”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“I don’t know”

“Leave him then”

“No”

Jack frowned and stuttered “w- what does he have to be afraid of then? How can you be so true?”  
“He is too”

“If he doesn’t-” He stared. Shit Jack stared and he knew right that second that Jean was having a battle he didn’t know about. And still.. with Jean nowhere near him. With Jean who had no art. Jean who was far away in another world.  He wanted Jean to win this. He wished Jean would prove himself worthy and different of them. Maybe he had? He had. Once.  “If he doesn’t show up. I will hold you”

Maybe he should have seen it as something more. But he didn’t fight Jack because his words didn’t seem sexually intended. He let them slip, not agreeing and not disagreeing. He regretted that a lot, but Jack pulled him through the whole situation and he could never beat around that.

The day was spent waiting, because he didn’t know what ‘tomorrow’ meant for Jean. Hooked to his phone, and for the first time his classmates complained about his lack of interest or concentration. He was busy remembering the way Jean smelled, and when he thought about the fact that he still had one unworn hoody of Jean’s he couldn’t stop thinking about taking that out of his closet.

But the smell in the hoodie had faded, and he stayed awake in it all night. He sat and wrote. He drank and shivered. Oh his love had given him so much confidence, enough to make him feel less selfless than he had done before meeting him. It was Jean’s own stupid mistake.

Jean didn’t call that night, nor the next day or morning. Jean didn’t call at all. Only his mother bothered, that was good too, though, just a little painful too. “Hey darling, I saw your message about having a show at the end of fall”

“I know you knew that already”

His mother laughed sweetly and it made him remember how much he missed home. How grateful he was to be in perfect Paris. “You caught me. Anyway, I’m going, of course! I already have the money and I saw a nice flight today. Really flying doesn’t cost a thing these days! When I was young I had to go to hell and back to get to europa and now we do it for a week or less. Darling, this is the time to be alive. You still have all we once had but then with lots of extras and travels.”

He laughed “Yeah I know, mum”

“Skype is amazing too. You can still chat with Jean right? I had to send letters or make expensive calls back in the days” she laughed. She didn’t know. How could she.

God, he wished Jean would send him a letter. A cheesy and unexpected one, with compliments until he couldn’t read due to all the blood in his head.

That was nothing like Jean though. Jean acted with movement and such.  

“You are not even that old, you are totally exaggerating  ” and so on, and on. He avoided the Jean topic at any cost, because his mother would definitely ask if Jean wanted to travel with him, and he didn’t know if he could handle that much. He would most likely cry, and tell her that he didn’t know. Say that she had to make sure Jean would come, because if he didn’t he had ruined it. That would be it. Jean had a limit now. Mainly because he hadn’t called him in the two days he gave him, but he still loved Jean so much. He would keep moving the deadline forever, he knew that too.

Luckily he was not depending on smalltalk and his thoughts. He was depending on hard work and art. On a project he, himself, was more than proud of. He loved working and he knew he was his own person. This was an important thing to keep remembering.

From morning till late in the evening they worked on their project. Bodies moving like they didn’t have a thing on their mind, and maybe they didn’t; for a second.

Jack started looking with more cocky and knowing eyes. It made him hate the other more. He was so goddamn selfish that he cared most about being right about Jean. It pissed him off to no extend even though he accepted the fact it wasn’t righteous to do be annoyed like that.

Frustration had him working though. Emptiness had him working. FIll me, fill me, with everything art brings, was what he was living by. Pulling through the nights on a dancefloor. Again. Again. Until people started complaining about how it had truly been enough.

Jack left, but as he didn’t have his phone since Jean had refused to call he stopped by a few times. Danced a role that wasn’t his. Hand on him. Music loud and legs slipping until they were in all the places they had to be. His mind was so blank and he let it be. He wanted to dance alone though, all night.

“One arm. Second arm. You need to pull her rougher here. I notice before. Stop being weak. It’s art”  

He breath in and looked up. His hands through his hair; it was wet from sweat.  “Let me do it again”

Close to each other again. Rough. But it was dancing. Fuck it was strong though.  “You are thinking about your man”

“I’m not”

One one leg. “Forget him. He won’t stay or show up”  He turned, now looking at Jack with eyes that somehow had managed to shock Jack to some extend. His arm out.  The muscles in his arm seemed more tight than tired. He was art, that second. He was fighting for Jean and as Jean that second, with his own moves. Prove his and his love's worth.  “That. That was it, Marco, I want you to show that tomorrow at the show.”  How?

And the next morning was rough, but amazing. He still, somewhere, believed that Jean would show up but that was not necessarily the only reason he was pushing himself so hard. It was one of them though. He wanted perfection. He wanted to prove his worth. None of his work had been in vain, a stage - no matter if that one was small of big - in paris was his. That was enough. He told himself over and over again that that was enough.

Before going on stage Jack got him a bottle of vitaminwater and they drunk in silence, with their eyes closed. Concentration, for Jack, dreams for him. Romance is the strong lust to what you can’t get. The fiction around it made it beautiful. The art to describe it was his. He was ready for any romantic, modern expression they were going to give.

His mother was there; he met her at the theater, alone. She smiled. Her eyes were bright and her body language confident. She stood out an insane lot because she was such a beautiful unique woman. Oh she was so beautiful, mainly because of her eyes. Her eyes stood proud and happy. Her eyes were full and bright. She was glad he had turned out the way he had. She understood and she knew. She knew all he was going to dance for and about. She knew him.  “Good luck sweetheart”  a kiss on his cheek and he was ready to go.

He went backstage, waited backstage to act, to express himself as a work of modern art. Jack and the ladies gave him a thumbs up and he smiled brightly at them. They all were confident in their work and he did, he did feel confident while he danced onto the stage - tight, strong, beautiful (even he had to say it himself) - and looked up to the audience. Then everything seemed to stop - mainly his mind- as he could look at the people. He saw his mum. But he looked at Jean. For a mere second he did.

Jean was not there.

Light in his eyes.

Move. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luf yall


	20. Hit the road Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean meets Marco again.

The sky is always blue above the clouds. This sounds like a cheesy thought, but once you are in a plane you realize that it’s one of the truest. Not that everything gets fucking wonderful once you realise this. Ears hurt, people stink, plane food is disgusting and the shame that filled you when you were still standing on the ground doesn’t magically leave once you left the ground. You can still be useless. You can still lose the one you love.

He had been stupid. Lie after lie. He didn’t realise he was a liar before, he had always seen himself as one of the most honest people, but shame does crazy things. Shame hit him like nothing else could, instead of Marco’s love, maybe Marco’s love could have, but the distance this had to cross before hitting him made it slow down. It hit him, but not as hard. Softly, and that’s fine, love is supposed to be soft, but something had to knock the shit out of him.

Being alone hit him, harder than anything could. Every day after university he stood in an empty apartment -living alone now-  and took loveless breaths. Food was disgusting, because he felt too tired to cook. University was tough, he was drained when he got home only to be greeted by a room full of ugly new aged theorie books. Interesting they sure were, from time to time, but he didn’t want to see them anymore (knowing you will be forced to look into them is a depressing thought).  
Pizza had become his life (or rather that what was keeping him alive). His freezer was full of them. His telephone bill was full of the local pizza restaurants. Take away becomes your life when you’re rich and falling into the nothing we call work. Not that the pizza was bad, poppi pizza was his absolute favourite and nothing could beat their fish pizzas, but he wanted home cooked food once in awhile too. Home cooked food sounds like something that is easy to get, for he has a mum who would have wanted him around and he had an alright kitchen in his apartment. A white kitchen with four fire pits, a cooker, an unnecessarily big oven and a refrigerator that cooled nothing but energy drinks, beer and some left overs. Everything looked neat until you opened a door. Opening a door was the dumbest fucking thing one could do in that room of his.

Drinking mainly meant getting his mind off things. He drunk alone, that alone is something really dumb. He didn’t do it often, but when he did he found himself laying on his (king sized) bed full of regret. Regret, Regret, Regret, and some homework. School was fine, not good, just fine. He studied enough for it to be good, tho.

In the evenings (the first month, or months) he called Marco. At first his love smiled a lot, and they joked about France. Marco looked good, but even more than that he looked free. It was as if he walked even straighter, it was as if he ate even healthier; he ate lot of French cheese and drank amazing coffee probably. His smile was bright and the stories about his school were interesting, but incredibly one sided. He had danced all day, he had gotten one of the best grades, he had met a handsome young artist, and a beautiful young artist and another amazing artist, and he had seen amazing art. Everything was beautiful.

Marco was living the life.

Sad thing was:  he wasn’t.

He didn’t know why he had such a hard time befriending the other law majors (or anyone at that). Maybe he was just a little too rebellious and beat. Maybe they hated his hair or his queerness. He never figured it out, for he never got the chance to ask them.  
Maybe it was the glare and the spot he took in the back of the room. It probably was the way he constantly looked at his phone, for he wanted a message from Marco. Marco’s education was more physical, more practical, and op top of that he had no internet outside of the house, so this message rarely came. Angry. He just looked angry all of the times and no one but Marco was used to that.

That’s not completely true, actually. From time to time he met up with old friends, mainly with Reiner. Reiner was going to be a teacher and coach for high school sports. Fit him perfectly. He could out-child all the children and talk louder than 30 little voices could.

Reiner complimented his apartment in his own absurd ways (the question is if it could be called complimenting).  “Oh fuck it’s so white and fancy, so boring though. I wish Berthold and I lived in a place this big, your bed is bigger than mine even though you are all bone and Marco is gone” That hurt, but Reiner didn’t notice that he was sulking about Marco as much as he was. “You have gotten even skinnier? Are you eating properly? I should cook for you! What do you want?” Mama Reiner strikes again. Then again, one did not exactly need motherly instincts to be worried about him. The bags under his eyes, his pale skin, the bones you could see through his black shirt.

“I don’t know man, I have nothing in my refrigerator.” he told the other. This was no problem, they could go on a walk and Reiner would make him some nice spaghetti or some shit like that. Reiner also asked if Berhold could come later on, because he didn’t want his love to eat alone.  Fine alright, I just need food.  Alright, I understand, I wouldn’t want Marco to eat alone either.  
Does Marco eat alone in france? No no he doesn’t. Marco eats with his friends, Marco eats with his art, Marco eats with himself (and he is enough to himself).

And you, do you have people over to eat a lot? Yeah I do, he lied, people often still live at home so we chill here, he dreamed. He lied, he dreamed and thought about Marco.

The food was good, but Italian was best when Anja or Marco cooked it. The love between Reiner and Berthold was lovely to see, restored the idea that people in love could make it, but it wasn't as lovely as the love Marco could give.

Every time he looked into the mirror he noticed that he had gotten thinner, his bags had gotten darker, his hair was too long to look good and his eyes were dead. He was not even worried about the fact that his soul had gotten sucked out of his body, he was worried that it would show. He was afraid to video-call Marco because he knew that his lover would panic if he saw his face. He was afraid to speak to Marco because he knew that the lovely low voice would kill him. It would leave him crying for hours. The stories about art and this Jack asshole and who knows what’ s more would leave him crying at his own life.

Marco had gotten so much better without him and it was scary. Maybe he was Noah. Maybe it would end that way. Je suis Noah. The ones who get killed because they were stupid themselves.  
He didn’t know if he was jealous, scared or so fucking in love that it hurt anymore. All he knew is that too many emotions, combined with no time to deal with it, turns into emptiness. He didn’t know what he was feeling anymore. He knew that having a long good conversation about it with Marco would probably help but he didn’t dare to do this because of the following reasons: he had no reason to be so sad (loneliness and stress hits everyone, he just left it uncontrolled); Marco still saw him as the good man he loved (he was not that man anymore); he was too weak, man he was just weak and afraid that it would get worse.

The days were getting darker, around this time, sometimes he slept through all of his early classes, and once he woke up stress hit. Worried. Every single time he thought; What if I get kicked out of school too? What will I have left in the entire fucking United States? Sure his relationship with his parents had gotten better, but they barely noticed him due to their own busy lives. It was far from something to write home about (and home obviously doesn’t mean his parents, but Marco).  
How sad is it when someone can never return home because he can’t move his own legs? How sad is it that you have an home loyally waiting for you, and you just can’t bring yourself to stop a taxi?  
How sad is that?  
How sad was his excuse of a life?

The last time his mother had yelled at him was when he had punched Noah in his face, but when she came into his house (this was three months after Marco left) he saw the scream in her eyes long before it came out of her mouth. The horror. Her son, living such a mess. Full of books and dirty piles of pizza plates. Not one pictures except from the one with Marco. No life. No life in the room nor in her son.  She didn’t ask if he had to clean; she asked if he was alright.

“I guess”  he answered.

His mother looked him up and down. She frowned like he could too (only she had a reason and he never did).  “You look so bad”

“Thanks” He sighed.

“My boy..  I don’t understand” Two hands took his face slowly. “I can’t understand”

“It’s not that bad” But it was, and he knew it was very bad by now. He just couldn’t get out of it, he didn’t want to get out of it anymore, it meant getting up and realizing things.  
His mother was talking but he wasn’t listening anymore. Her mouth just opened and closed again and sometimes her tears looked a little bit too teary. Words all sounded the same. Huwl huwl bjul huwl. Marco.  “What?”

“I said that we could go see a doctor, because sometimes lifelessness, and being tired can be caused because you’re missing something in your blood”

“No, why did you say Marco’s name?”

“I said that maybe we could ask him to come around, with the vacation coming up”  he shook his head. She didn’t know how busy and great Marco was getting. She didn’t know how nice Jack’s puns about poetry were. She didn’t understand how he could not be her son, the perfect lawyer or Marco’s boyfriend if they found out how his life was going.

It had gotten too far.

“Jean, I’m going to get you tested.”  

He held up his shoulders, he didn’t care all too much that second, but panic grew in his heart like little insects running around. Like one of those big spiders that holds thousands of small ones. She had killed the spider called ‘his heart’ and the little spiders called ‘panic’ started running like mad ones.

 

Looking at the screaming kids next to him, he snorted to himself.

Depression.

Sure, they knew how to handle it - for it had gotten a bit better since the test happened - but why call it that? Depression. Why make it sound so.. well .. depressing.

Is depression even depressing or does something depressing get you a little inside feeling about a depression?

The kid was ugly. He had white hair combed to both sides and he was screaming while looking other people in the eye. Even his headphones couldn’t block the horrid sound. His mind was all thoughts. Memories. Childly screaming. Sweet music he had missed.

‘Tell me in short what you have been doing this year’  the man had asked, that month ago. He started with Marco. Marco left. Now he was left alone and the computer was way too small for all his love. He caught himself talking about Marco for hours, and eventually he merely said“and I’m studying law” as if that made the psychiatric forget all his words about Marco.

He didn’t know if the man actually needed to test his blood pressure, but oh well, who was he to object. Who was he to decide whether he had an actual reason to feel sad or if he was just kind of useless. Of course, nothing was wrong with his blood- pressure. His mind had just gone deeply into the ground. He was just overthinking a lot. Or underthinking. Or thinking so much that nothing was anymore.

A man stood waiting with a paper that said “Jean Kirschtein”. The man was wearing a suit and shoes that looked goddamn terrible with the suit. He wasn’t sure if the shoes were supposed to be sneakers but they were really a little bit of everything and a lot of nothing. The suit was fine, but it was obvious that it wasn’t prefered way of dressing. A shame. Suits mainly look good because the one wearing the suit feels like they can take the world on with their beautiful charm. A suit can make people feel the way Marco always felt in normal blouses.

Maybe Marco was wearing a suit tonight.

Maybe Marco didn’t want to see him tonight.

Maybe both, the day was still young and full of surprises.

His hotel was near the theater (the man pointed at the theater when they were near) and was expensive and conviniënt. Completely cold and useless if Marco wouldn´t come see him there. It was pretty cold out anyway. He was just glad that he had gotten three blankets to sleep under and eight pillows to hug when missing again. Pillows sooth pain very well; you can hide in between them and you can hug them close.

He let himelf fall into the big hotel bed with a big sigh, looking around to everything fancy. A big tv, white walls, art from painters that were educated here, a mini-refrigerator, a telephone for room service, all kinds of bullshit he didn’t need.

When he looked into the mirror he caught his eyes looking dark but alive. They looked like he was thinking about life, his frown looked like he was going to make something happen, his bags looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.  And he hadn’t. He threw water in his face and rubbed it roughly, then he stared at himself again. He was getting a feeling of power by looking into his own eyes and it was insane. He needed a haircut though, there was no time for such things, he was pretty sure he would be late anyway. It was tonight.

He put on an Humble Pie album and started pulling clothes out of his way too big suitcase. His mum had been way too passionate about him taking all his stuff so he could have a perfect stay. ‘You look good, you look way better, I’m proud of you!’ she had said. That Marco would love his look. That he just looked a little tired. That it was okay to feel depressed and that Marco would help him. He knew she had bought books about how to talk to depressed people, he didn’t really know how to feel about it.

Eventually he went with a nice looking black blouse, casual looking jeans and formal shoes. His mother had bought those shoes but he had to admit that he liked the look of them. Dark, matte and with a small pointy toe. He looked good. Except from his hair.  His bags were just there, his frown was supposed to look that way, his skin had a grey tone but that was fine too,  
That was just him.

And maybe that was the most changing thing he had thought that year: ‘That was just him.’ The great sentences among sentences, and it was such an easy one. It was one that made him glare at himself one more time and then walk out into the streets of paris. Into some small and nice looking restaurant to eat by himself. Calling his mum. Planning things to say to Marco.

Flowers! That was his planning on what to say to Marco. The rough translation is:  nothing, just push some plants into his hand. Saying nothing would indeed be the easiest way to avoid Marco noticing his dead and trembling voice. The shame hidden behind bright red.

The roses went in bouquets of ten and they were ten Euro, he got four of them and asked the lady behind the counter to put them in one big bouquet. She looked at him as if he was crazy. “For you girlfriend?” She asked in French.

“No for my boyfriend” she smiled, she couldn’t care less about whether people were gay or not. In Paris everybody swings all ways. In Amsterdam being gay barely exist anymore, everyone just is. Is Berlin everyone counts as an fucked up outcast, not necessarily the gay people. It was great really. “He- He- goes to the international college of art and they have a show today”

“Oh that’s amazing! You want a cart to wish him good luck?”he told her no, because he would give it to him after the show. She smiled and laughed and called Marco a lucky guy. He hadn’t really thought about it. He wanted to object. He didn’t.

Marco was a lucky guy, but Marco had made himself just that. No one else made Marco a lucky guy (except from Anja, maybe). Marco made himself great.  
With forty roses in his hand and his phone in he tried to link the streets on google maps and the ones he was walking in. It he only got two of them wrong but considering how close his hotel was, it was still pretty terrible.

The theater was big and fancy looking, nothing less than he had expected. With his hands -still- full he tried to show the man in front of the door his ticket. He felt bad for the guy, it was freezing outside and he was wearing company clother. The guy didn't seem bothered by it, he smiled kindly while he awkwardly searched his ticket and apologized for being late. Mumble in French, just mumble apologies is French.

It was becoming a mantra.

A mantra like the ones his mother told him. The “it’s okay”s and the “I love you”ś and even the way he mumbled Marco’s name in his sleep. Tired. The tired voice that still considered getting better and making Marco love him again. Or even more. Or still. He didn’t know which was he needed. He didn’t know if Marco still loved him.

He still loved Marco.

Marco.

His Marco.

Marco’s feet moved lightly and beautifully. His face was looking straight forward, into the bright lights, and he was looking right through the audience. Of course. That was something he was supposed to do, Marco explained the stage attitude to him once.  
Marco’s hand was taken by some other guy. Jack. He knew that because he had seen pictures that were awfully accurate. He had hoped the guy was photogenic but ugly.

Awkwardly he held his flowers down and walked to an empty chair near the stairs. He wondered if Marco could see him. He wondered if Marco would lose his concentration when he saw his lover. Late and unannounced. Maybe just here to figure out that Jack had been a better man for him.

Right now he didn’t care either way. He was looking at Marco in real live. This wasn’t some shitty skype conversation or video made by a classmate. It was real life and Marco was beautiful like he had never seen him before.

He wasn’t ashamed.

He was proud.

It was something that struck him and left him breathless for a while. Music was playing loudly and he saw the beautiful freckled man in bright light putting emotion he had never seen out there. Passionate. Sad eyes. A head held high.

He wanted to hold Marco. Sweet lover, he wanted to hold Marco tightly and tell him that he was sorry and that he would never give up on him. Those words weren’t his to say though. Those words felt dirty and distant.

Lights went out, Marco was on his knees, his head pushed onto the stage, disappearing into the darkness. People started clapping and screaming. He merely stared. People stood up. He followed but stopped hearing the clapping, screaming or laughing. In the distance he saw a bright woman staring at him with wide eyes. Anja. He had missed her. Sorry, was his mantra. She looked like she knew.

He was the first to get outside of the room, a crowd walking behind him with smiles and flowers. He glanced behind him a few times. He should wait for Anja and stand with her to kindly wait but instead of doing that he searched the door to go backstage, the one that clearly said ‘staff only’, and walked through that one. He didn’t want people to see Marco’s tears. Shame. Shame.

“Is he here?” A charming voice.

“No” Marco’s. He was he. It wasn’t that hard to figure out, but he didn’t want to walk in and scream ‘yes he is’. That would be even worse than standing still and listening to the two talk.  “No he isn’t.”

“Said anything yet?” There was no sound after that. Maybe Marco shook his head. He stared at the flowers in his hand and thought that, no, these flowers weren’t enough to make up for it. These flowers weren’t enough to do anything. “Let me go home with you tonight.”

“Jack, no” He didn’t know if this ‘going home with Marco thing had happened before’ it must have, for he said it so casually. “I’m going to talk to him”

“How? You deserve-” Not that word. He wouldn’t let him say that. He wouldn’t let this man get his boyfriend’s loving while he was near, while his lover was resisting for him.

He opened the door.

God, the stare.

Marco stood gaping at him, his eyes full of tears knocked the breath out of him. He would not survive that look. “J-ja- I- shi-” that was it. No more would come out of that soft mouth. It was too soft. Too sweet. It couldn’t scream like it was supposed to.

“Jack” He turned to glare at the French “Ta Gueule” shut the fuck up.

That was not the way he had wanted it to go. With flowers in his hands, with bags under his eyes but formal shoes on. With shivering legs but a stern voice. With Marco watching him. Crying.

Marco ran up to him and draped his arms around him. Crying into his ear and all over his cheek. He saw how it made Jack shut up. He felt how it made himself breath again. Marco wanted to touch him.

“Fuck you” Marco mumbled softly. “Connard. Fuck you”  Asshole. He smiled painfully, that was the only righteous thing Marco could call him right now.

He heard the door close behind him. Jack left out of respect and he didn’t really know how to feel about it. Marco didn’t seem bothered. He hugged him tighter swallowed away his tears. “I- uhm”  They didn’t really have words. How can you put such a thing to words? “I- I brought flowers”

Marco chuckled softly. “Jean, you know that people only bring one rose to these kind of things, not an enormous bouquet.”

Marco’s smile looked so sad. They strangled his throat.  “These are not for the show.” He awkwardly pulled one rose out of the bouquet (that’s harder than it seems)  and handed it to Marco. “This one is for the show. It was beautiful,” The dark brown eyes started smiling too. Just a little, but it was there.  “ and the rest is because I love you.. And.. uhm.. Because I’m afraid”

Yes he did. He said that. He was proud and ashamed at the same time. Marco had to know. He had to be honest right now, because else he had 39 useless flowers. His lover deserved more. His lover deserved the world.

 “I’m just glad you’re here”  Marco cupped his face between his hands and smiled sadly “but.. I was at a point where I could not take it anymore, my love, I was at a point of choosing..” He kissed Marco’s cheeks softly. Their tears mixed and dripped onto each other softly. Tears seem like such a kind and calm gesture, why did they only come in the saddest moments? “ I just couldn’t accept it yet. I couldn’t accept that you had given up on me. I love you, I didn’t understand how you could..”

“If there is anything I haven’t given up on it’s you” Maybe that was too much information. Maybe it was just enough. “A-and I love you too, of course, sweetheart, beautiful, I do, love”  He pushed away Marco’s tears away a little too rough. Marco seemed to recognize this from other times he cried and smiled at him.

The sweet words couldn’t easily make up for everything. They refused to look at each other for that hour. It was too scary for him, it was a silent treatment from Marco’s side. He had seen Marco do this before, it was what he did when he was upset enough to stay mad and show it, but loved too much to get anything mean out of his mouth. Eyes avoided him softly. They looked at him shortly. They carassed his hands because, fuck, it had been long. Neither one of them could stop themselves. To they stood, hand in hand, eyes anything but meeting and breathing in each other's air. Refusal and lust. Pain.  
He was the first one to make a move- step by step, but strong- by pushing his face into the pit of Marco’s neck and kissing his softly. Whispering that he loved him, and sorry, and that he loved him even more. More than anyone can imagine, he promised, so soft that he doubted if Marco heard it

. I’m sorry,  that was his Mantra, and Marco seemed to believe him.  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’ll tell you”

‘When?”

A silence hit the room. Marco stared into his eyes for a short amount of time that was heavy enough to leave him shivering for a lifetime, and then he pushed his eyes back down, a frustrated sigh. He reached out to his loved and caressed him, awfully lost.

He stared at the brunettes skin and freckled while they called for him. That his mother was waiting for him. That a lot of people were looking forward to him. If he was done yet. Marco steadied his voice while answering, which amazed him, and then stood up with a straight back and a fake smile. Ready to fight for himself. “Tonight” He whispered. “Let me hold you tonight and I’ll tell you. Let me get you coffee while staring into the French streets. Let’s get bread and cheese at five while not even being ashamed of our bags and morning breath. Marco. I’ll tell you everything and I want to know, everything… just... Don’t treat me the way I treat myself. Let’s treat both of us the way you treat yourself”  A breathless nod.  Two hearts that kept going. As if they had been doing that all along. It was almost worth a laugh.

Anja was booming. She was brighter than both of them and jokingly called them out on it (though he was pretty sure that she knew.)  She complimented Marco a thousand times- he was jealous that he hadn’t been able to compliment him the same way- and then she kissed Marco thousands of times and him once, on their cheeks. Anja seemed to have seen her pride and life grow in that theater play and she had gotten more beautiful just because of it.

Good dinner! She promised as celebration. We would stroll through Paris and eat the best dinner ever seen. He told her about a place where he would always eat with his Grandma when in Paris. It was the best place in the city, his Gran was an expert on these kind of things. Since my Grandfather was rich, she had a lot of time and hit the city a lot. Here she’d stay all day, just drinking wine and eating good food. Trying to get herself to be the most sophisticated woman in the world without getting her hands dirty. She was a lot like he was, maybe.

The restaurant was glowing with the pride of artists that had made it in this world and managed to get into the world of spoiled people. The candles, the Jazz, the beautiful woman that were laughing. For a second he forgot why he hated France. The fact that they were all about enjoying and drinking wine a lot was a stereotype based on the truth, why was he bothered?

The manue reminded him of being a little kid. Back when he would only take meat with fries. Back when the amazing tastes and names scared him because he simply didn’t know them. Back when he didn’t drink wine because he was him without Marco. A bottle of white bitter and red sweet were put on the table while Marco whined about not being able to drink that much, and that not being able to make a choice was a terrible excuse. Marco didn’t know that he was now immune for the dizziness the redness brought. He didn’t know that he had a lot of bottles, just to try and drink his thoughts away. He drank until it worked, and it worked when he didn’t.

They laughed and he didn’t know if it was fake or real anymore. It didn’t feel forced, just wrong. He saw that Marco didn’t know what to feel either. They both complimented the food. They both complimented Anja. They even complimented each other, and life.  They wanted to leave.

Still it seemed to be minutes later when Anja pulled out her Euro’s and tried to calculate how much it would have been in Dollars. A lot more, they stated. It was no time until Anja kissed their cheeks and wished them goodnight and the best of luck (for she knew).

Three stairs were too much, he realized when he had gotten to Marco’s apartment, and they had secretly piped down in the wine for then the other couldn’t say that it was the alcohol talking about something important. His legs were jelly because of this gorgeous man. Because of all the thought going through his mind. “Jack..” He was only halfway through the last stair “He said that he was going home with you tonight. Was that meant in a sexual way?”

“Yes.. I do believe that’s what he meant”

He stepped inside of Marco’s room, took out his shoes, took a deep breath “Has that happenned before? I mean, I would understand, with me being gone and not talking to you I-”

“No, it has never happened before. Jack was able to get my attention and I like him, but to me he’s not attractive, he’s not lovable… he’s not you” Good. He loved those words. They let them stroke him from the inside, from his ears to his brain.  “Do you think that that having sex with others is normal.. Have you- “

“Fuck, no, Marco, I haven’t even got friends let stand people I want to share my bed with”

“You don’t?”

This was not the way he wanted it to go, but he’d settle for it. “Not really no.” Marco stared into his eyes. Their shoes half on and their mind half running “Actually, not at all. No one.  It just didn’t happen and I- I think my mum is the only person I talked to in three weeks to say the least”

“Oh” Marco pulled out his other shoes and changed his jeans for a comfortable pants before throwing a sweatpants my way.  RIght after he made some coffee, pushed his window open and placed him on his bed next to his other empty cups of coffee.  

His love talk just yet. Instead he asked him to lay down on bed and close his eyes, like he had done last summer. Like he had asked him over skype while saying ‘imagine I’m there’.  “Sweetheart. Imagine I’m here”

“You are here”

Fingers softly hit his forehead and slid down “Imagine, my hands stroking your face, caressing the wrinkled between your eyebrows..” Over his nose, both his cheeks and a thumb giving his mouth extra attention. “Imagine that I’m kissing your lips softly”

“It’s hard to imagine” he whispered, eyes closed “I haven’t felt your kiss in months.”

He could have expected a kiss after that. But the thing is, he was far from prepared. It was a recovery. It was forgiveness. It was a promise. A peck.  “What’s wrong with you Jean?”

“It’s dumb” Marco kissed him again. Just as soft.

“Nothing is dumb. Nothing you could possibly say”

So he told Marco. He told him how he felt and that he had no reason to feel like this. He told him about the emptiness and about the working hours and sleeping hours. He told him about how his mum had reacted and how she had figured out that they were indeed talking about the ugly thing he had. “Depression. You can’t imagine right? How the hell did I get hung up in this thing while there was no fucking problem. Everything is fucked up and the reason they give me is depression. That’s not a thing that went wrong, that’s a name for my state of mind.. I just can’t understand, Marco”  Of course Marco could. That was just the way he was.  “I don’t think I want you to forgive me for treating you the way I did.. I don’t want it to be an excuse.”

“Alright, I won’t forgive you because of your reasons.. I’ll merely forgive you because I still love you. You didn’t stay away long enough to stop me from being in love” he laughed softly and it felt so real. The laugh came from his gut and shivered through his body until his limbs felt like they were in love. Butterflies like they were tiny bits of happiness locked in a cocoon. Waiting to spread right through his entire body.

“I love you too” Much more, but he was at lack of better words.

Words aren’t all, that’s something Marco thought him. Something that Marco practised with him. Together into a vague space that was called mood, touch, look. Feel. They felt those things for they lived those things together, as each other, in each other.  

Marco asked for solutions. This was something no one had done before. Maybe I hadn’t made enough progress to start thinking about solutions or change. His mother merely didn’t want him to quit university, even though she probably knew that that was the best way to get him to feel better. Just start over next year. When he was stronger and a better person. Live with Marco for now. Problem was that he would only miss Marco more if they’d do such.

These were the kind of problems he was thinking about.  “Do you want to stay with me?”

An eager nod came from his side. “Marco, shit, that’s the only thing I want.”

“In what way?”

He thought about that question. Did he want to physically stay with Marco, in this small apartment in France? Did he want to go back and meet Marco a few times in a year? A few days even. Did he want to go back in a few days?  
He would. That was something he’d have to do.  
“You’re thinking too much Darling,” Marco rubbed the wrinkles between his eyebrows softly. “I don’t want you to show that face when you’re with me.”

“What if I’m not with you?”

“I- then.. Still. I still want you to smile when you are on your own” but it sounded so weird. Like something that shouldn’t happen. Like they were breaking all the promises they had ever made. Silently. Darling. How could they feel this way and still do it?

They fell into silence. He knew and saw that Marco didn’t want him to leave. He didn’t want to go through the doubts he went through. Marco was amazing for forgiving him, or maybe he was just weak and- like everybody else - soft for the one they loved.  
Marco softly stoked his hair, his breath slow and deep. Very softly, he was humming a song. He recognized it as something they had listened to last summer, but he couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it had been more important for Marco. Maybe they just listened differently.    
With all the power he had at that moment -which wasn’t that much-  he pulled Marco closed. His nose into Marco’s neck so that small kisses could he places on the bare skin above his shirt. A soft promise. He didn’t need to give Marco a hickey so that he would be reminded of his presence. He knew that for Marco, a small kiss would burn into his skin just as much. The breaths he breathed into Marco would be kept, they would be put in a beautiful piece of Marco memory. Not a thing he had done to give Marco love had gone lost of loose. Not the way he sat in front of his the first day, or the way he had sat next to him a few days later. Not all the times he rushed out of the room to hide from Noah, or the time he had punched Noah in the face.  Not a kiss, not their first time having sex, not his first blowjob, nothing. Not even the way he missed and left.    
Maybe that was why his life seemed to be hanging into the nothing. Marco wasn’t there to make it something. To remember things.

The hand that had been on Marco’s face caressed down to Marco’s hips. He gave attention to every single spot of his lover’s body. Every single spot was beautiful. He could feel how healthy Marco’s body was. Marco had muscles and a soft tan. Marco had freckles and pink cheeks.    
It made him feel like running. His body was so thin that he almost fell apart. So white that it almost seemed grey again.  His bags, his hair, his frown.  “You know..” Marco let his hands slide over his thin body, like he had done with Marco’s “you’re beautiful.  I don’t think I have ever seen anyone this beautiful”  Marco smiled. He stared with wet eyes.  “Truly”  and he cracked. He pushed his face into Marco’s chest and cried. He cried as loud as necessary (which is  very loud). Marco seemed far from faced and stoked his hair softly. Humming again. His tears fell onto Marco’s shirt and he was pretty sure that his heart bumped into Marco’s chest so hard he could feel it.  
“I love you” he said. Not because there was a need, but ‘I love you’ is a feeling, not something to prove.

He had nothing to prove, he reminded himself, he only had to feel.

That was something Marco had told him, when they had just started this thing together.

The rest of the night went perfectly. They held each other the entire night. Marco’s arm- like always- under him and his arms wrapped around Marco like he was afraid of letting go. He was afraid of letting go.  When he was half asleep he felt a few more kisses. A few more hums, but this time the kind that sounds like a human purr. He felt Marco stroke his cheeks to get rid of his tears. He felt Marco’s tears, and instead of saying something about it, he hugged Marco closer and felt him falling asleep.

He woke up with Jazz and the smell of coffee. A warm and beautiful voice singing in a way that was soft enough to be called considerate, but loud enough to be called addicted to singing. He didn’t open his eyes as soon a he woke up, just because he wanted to enjoy his lover’s voice a little longer. Just because he knew he wasn’t waking up alone, even though he was very much laying in bed alone.    
Marco was singing in French, something he had envied for a long time. It was an old song. Something his Grandma would listen to before a speech about how she met her husband. Only now he realised why those stories were important. If this song would happen to be played in the future, you bet he would start talking about how he met his husband too. About how he met Marco.

He smiled. “Darling~” Marco sang “I see you’re awake, would you care for some coffee?~”

“I’m pretty sure those are not the lyrics” He mumbled, a gruff voice. Marco laughed - the lyrics of his life - and brought him a cup of coffee.  “I have.. Bread, croissants, and pancakes”

“I love you” He stretched and sipped his coffee “I’d like pancakes.”

Marco smiled “I love you too”

Oh.

He did.

“You are fucking perfect, I kind of want you to marry me and stuff”

“Because of the pancakes?”

He snorted. “As if.. The pancakes are like.. Five percent, maybe less.”

And then there were beautiful laughs. Laughs that surprised him more than they should have. Laughs he had heard a thousand times.

When the pancakes were ready, and Marco and he sat on opposite sides of the bed with plates between them and one limb stretched out so they would still be touching, they talked about when he would leave. His flight would leave in two days, he said. He could almost see Marco pull back in pain. Full of Sadness. Neither one of them wanted to ruin it like that though. “So tomorrow we can do something fun together, that’s.. Nice”

“Yeah, let’s go do something fun”

And it was. It was fun. It was cold outside and they wore big sweaters and beanies and they bought new matching scarves.  The outside world lit up by lights that tried their best to replace the big light that kept all of us going. They did a good job, they lit up the red cheeks and laughing children that aggressively sang French Christmas songs Marco had never heard before. He sang together with the children just to make Marco smile at him. To make Marco ask him if he would, please, learn him that song. Of course he would, he loved Marco.  “Mum is going to stick around until Christmas ends.. She’s at a friend’s now, drinking wine and making art” he nodded “You probably want to be home for Christmas too” He hadn’t really thought about it.  He didn’t enjoy having his family around (even though he knew they cared). His grandma wouldn’t come anyway, just his father’s family. He didn’t think he would enjoy that either. Maybe he would even call his mother to tell her that he wouldn’t go.  “Yeah.. there will be a shitty family party but my mum would want me there” he lied, because he knew that when he’d leave, Marco would have a reason that had nothing to do with him not being good enough.

His plane left at nine, which meant that Marco would not be able to bring him. Marco had another show that started at eight. Marco complained about the time but was fast to accept and cuddle again. They laid on the bed with cups of tea and empty cups of coffee. Their bodies as close as possible. They were both wearing Marco’s sweaters. He had a dark blue one that was way too big and Marco was wearing a red one that was - even though it was his- a little too big too. Marco’s home sweaters looked better than his university clothes.

Every other five minutes they mentioned that they loved each other and that they were going to miss each other. They had sex, in the early morning and held each other like he remembered holding each other. With lust and love. He pulled Marco close and bit his neck and kissed his lips softly. Marco held up his legs, put them over his shoulder, and held him like he could not be broken. He didn’t make him feel weak, just loved.  He said Marco’s name a lot. Just because he knew it was Marco, it really was.  Like that. Close to each other and in each other. Tongues not even caressing in each other’s mouths anymore. Marco held him tight so tight that he let himself go. He tried to keep his eyes open but the rest of his body was gone. Marco would hold him up, Marco would take care of him, Marco would make him feel good. He just wanted to see, Marco. His eyes turned away with love, a brown and freckled blur breathed above him and stared at his moaning mouth. “I love you”

Marco fantasized what it would be like if they’d stay together and started living together. “I would make two cups of coffee every morning and I’d wake up earlier just so that I’d have extra time to cuddle you.” for a bit, life was the most beautiful thing he knew.

When half past 7 hit Marco was rushing to get all his stuff together. He was wearing beautiful clothes because he knew he would get a small interview after the show.  “Jean I really need to go. Sweetheart I need to hurry”

He quickly wrapped his arms around his beautiful man. “I’ll miss you”

“I’ll miss you too.. I love you”

“I love you too”  

Why was that not enough for now. Or maybe, for the rest of the year. Maybe he wouldn’t see him for a year, that’s why it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what he was feeling. Not entirely. He was feeling sad, blue, he was already missing. It would never be enough.

“I really have to go now.. Have a safe flight” Marco pecked his lips, holding him as close as possible even though he seemed to be pushing him away at the same time.

“Yeah.. good luck”  
“Call me when you get home” And with another peck Marco turned and started walking. He didn’t close the door just yet. He watched Marco’s quick steps until he was out of his sight. Even then, when Marco had probably left the building, he stared at the empty hallway. He felt like vomiting. He felt like he was already falling back to his usual way of thinking and he did not know how to stop it. He did not know how to stop it without Marco. That alone is quite a dangerous thing.

He got all his bags together and made one cup of coffee in an old cup that Marco had used the last few days. It was an ugly brown one with a bear drawn onto it. Marco’s favourite.  Coffee tasts better out of that cup.  
The computer was still playing some mellow beats, the jazzy kind that leave you wondering where self love went. The mellow kind that tell you that Ballet and hiphop, Jazz and hiphop, came out of the same scene.  He hummed. He stopped. He sounded like Marco, a little.

When he walked to the window he noticed that it just started raining. Marco was probably at the bus by now so that was fine. His taxi would stop in front of the door anyway. Rain makes coffee taste better.  
Like that, he stared into the Paris streets until his taxi pulled up. A thick white man walked out of the car to ring the bell. He didn’t wait for it.

“Ugly weather” the man said in French, but then, realising that he was driving he added “Weather is very bad” in Englisch. As if he wasn’t mainly talking to himself anyway.

“Yeah” He watched the man throw his suitcase into the car and then turned to look at Marco’s aparment. Awkward. It felt like he was leaving on a vacation to America, not the other way around.

The raid started pouring harder when they were inside of the car. The man listened to an English pop station in the car and he didn’t know if he did this because of his customers or because he had an awful taste in music. Maybe both. He didn’t really feel like asking, so instead he stared outside. The city was, like it had done before, singing. It was yelling and laughing and - the entire city - made the rain into wine.  
I hate France, he repeated in his mind, like he had done so many times before. He had, he had hated France. It was a place for assholes, it was a grey place that had nothing to offer him. He had thought.

Through the window he saw the flower shop he had gone to the first day.  “Are the shops still open?” a rhetorical question. He could see that they were.

“Yeah, busy parts always stay open”

“Could you stop the car”

“No, very busy”

He glared at the man, though he doubted it was very convincing. “Please.” The man kept driving. “I’ll give you another twenty, just for stopping”  He pulled up and put the car next to the road. “Thanks.. I’ll be right back”

He was already wet after his first step. The rain was pouring. The taxi driver yelled something about an umbrella but he was already going. Not really knowing what he was doing, nor what he was planning but he felt like it was a good thing. A stupid thing too, but that was for later to think about.    
A small bell rang “Good evening- oh you’re soaked!”  The same young lady said again.

“Yes, I am” He smiled, silently thinking about how much money he had left on his credit card. “How many roses do you have left?”  

“Uhm.. I think I have six left.. It’s pretty late”

“And other flowers?”  

She laughed brightly.  “We have bouquets, we have some tulips, we have some-”

“What can I get for two hundred and fifty euro”

She laughed brightly again. “Shall I just..?” She pointed at the flowers, he nodded. “Is it for the same boy?” She asked while gathering the flowers. He nodded again. Smiling softly. “How did his show go?”

“Good” he swallowed. “I’m going back to America today”

“Ah. I thought you were French..” he nodded. “What time does your plane leave today?”

“Half past eight”

She looked at her watch. “That’s uhm.. Do you know how far the-”

“Yes.” She frowned and nodded while placing the flowers on the counter. She didn’t understand. That was fine, he didn’t either. “That would be two hundred and forty eight euro”

The taxi driver was far from amused when he mumbled “please bring me back” with bags full of flowers (fifteen bouquets).  He didn’t like not understanding things. “I’ll pay the same amount.. Just go back”

The taxi driver turned around.

His life turned around.

In the pouring rain he handed the man a fifty. Two hundred ninety eight euros and university classes, that’s what his happiness costed.

The taxi driver had to help him carry all the damn flowers and his luggages to Marco’s room, and once they were there he started wondering if Marco left the key hidden ‘in case you forget something’ like Marco had said or more ‘in case you realise you forgot me’  Marco might have hoped that he’d come back.

Returning to Marco’s apartment felt like returning home after a long vacation. It felt like the weight of the world was falling off his shoulder. Even though his plane left in an half hour, his mother was waiting for him and university started soon again. He didn’t know what plane he’d take if he’d miss this one. He just felt like it would be alright.

He put some tea on, some old soul on record player, and then he started taking all the flowers out of their bouquets. Marco’s room was small. He was lucky, he could fill the entire room with flowers.

He started with putting tea cups on all the cupboards and putting flowers into them. He draped flowers all over the bed and between the buttons of his typewriter. Everywhere. He put flowers everywhere and made sure that every single flower looked beautiful. Marco found things like that important.

Marco.

His Marco.  
The Marco he’d stay with. If only Marco would have him.

21.00 said the clock. He had missed his plane.  He missed Marco.

22.00 said the clock. He heard keys in front of the door. Panic hit him and he started wondering if he shouldn’t have been naked, or handsome, or maybe with coffee instead of the tea pot. Maybe he shouldn’t have missed his plane. Maybe he shouldn’t have bought all the damn flowers. They could have made a city trip, or gone to a musical. They still could. Hell, who cared? He’d give Marco all that.

If only he’d have him.

The door opened. The most beautiful being walked through that door, as expected, and he kind of wanted to cry. This was the right thing. Marco was all that was right for him.

“I- I missed my plane”  Marco stared at all the flowers that were laying in the room, then back at Jean, with tears in his eyes. “Because I had to buy all these flowers.. And because-” Marco threw his bags on the floor and clumsily took off his jacket while walking his way. Then, without a single warning, he threw himself on him.

“Jean” he whispered.

“I’m here, love”He was there. He was still with Marco.

Marco pulled him closer and pushed his nose into his neck“Jean, Jean, Jean”

He laughed softly. “I was thinking that we could spend Christmas together..” Marco nodded against him, crying “Maybe we could spend some more time together than just Christmas. The entire year, perhaps” His lover stared at him in disbelief. “I have nothing to go home to. I just.. I kind of just want to stay. Try again next year”

“Yes.. We’ll,  We’ll figure it out darling. It will be alright”Marco let go off him for a bit, to take his shoes off, and then he pulled the other even closer. He cried even more silent tears with a smile on his face. “I hoped you’d come back”

“I know”  He said, while pulling Marco closer and closer and kissing away tear after tear. “I know love.” He hoped he’d come back too. Back to who he used to be.

Marco stared into his eyes, tears shed all over their beautiful love. Beautiful tears.

I love you, that was his Mantra.

“Stay with me from now on, Jean..” That was Marco’s Mantra.

He just wanted him to stay.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this story!  
> This was the final chapter and I hope it was worthy of your time (:  
> I'm very grateful for all the kudo's and I kind of hope that I still hit 100 before with the last chapter! (it's possible, we're almost there!


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